To the Light
by ExquisiteEdward
Summary: A love story told simply between a broken woman and an extraordinary man who helps her see the beauty in herself again.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hello, my dear readers. I'm back! I've been working on this story for a few years now. The majority of it is pre-written. Not sure how many chapters there will be but definitely over 50. I'll try to update as frequently as I can.

Thank you to my dear friend Fran for reading this for me. I don't know how she does it, but she somehow tolerates my annoying self. :)

And I want to thank the lovely SunflowerFran for jumping in around chapter 16 or so to beta this story for me. She does such amazing work with her magical beta wand. I never knew how awful I was with commas lol.

I'm really proud of this little fic, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Thank you for all of your love, support, and words of encouragement over the years. It means absolutely everything to me.

SM owns Twilight. I own this storyline.

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 1 **_

_**BPOV **_

I stare out the window at nothing in particular, the scenery a blur of colors and shapes so familiar, yet so monotonous. I've looked out this window twice a day, five days a week, for two years now, and that depresses me. I hear a sneeze behind me, someone off to my left is singing loudly, and the man in front of me starts laughing. But I continue to stare out the window.

The bus soon approaches the one stop that is of interest to me. Taking in a deep breath, I tug my knit cap down until it touches my eyebrows and press my head against the window as I try to get a better look.

And there he is.

The man in the funny hat.

The bus slows to a stop. Adjusting his backpack, he glances up in my direction before climbing the steps. I hunker down in my seat and twist my gloves in my lap determined not to look at him. I'm acutely aware of his presence, tall yet unassuming, as he moves down the aisle. Unable to resist the temptation, I sneak a glance. He smiles, a small smile, but a friendly sort of smile, and this is the tenth smile he's given me, not that I'm keeping count. I consider the fact that smiles are free, so I give him a small one in return and quickly stare back out the window again.

He moves past and sits somewhere behind me, but I don't dare look back because I lack the courage. The doors close, and the bus lumbers along, spilling a puff of black smoke into the air. After completing its routine stops, the brakes squeak loudly, and we grind to a halt. Grabbing my bag, I stand and see him from my peripheral, but I don't look his way. Instead, I scurry down the aisle and exit the bus. I go right, and without looking, I know he goes left. Because I've noticed.

My eight hours of humdrum go by slowly. I cash checks, count money, and take deposits. I clock out for the day and head for the bus stop. My feet slow when I see him already standing there, his stature and peculiar hat making him stand out in the crowd. With an open book in his hands, his eyes are trained in my direction, neck craned, searching the crowd for someone. Nervously, I duck for cover, hiding my small frame behind a newspaper stand, hoping he didn't see me. I don't know why I'm cowering because I know he's not looking for me, but I find myself doing it anyway.

Trying to summon some bravery, I stand on my tiptoes and take a peek. His eyes are still searching the throng of people, and I blow out a small breath when I realize I've not been discovered. I watch him for several more moments before I see the bus approaching. Leaving my hiding place, I quickly hurry towards the group that has gathered, keeping my eyes trained on the ground.

The passengers begin to move. I glance up and our eyes meet, and he gifts me with smile number eleven. This smile, while still friendly in nature, seems bigger than this morning's, and the smile that creeps up on my face closely resembles his. Being timid, however, I quickly drop my gaze once again to the cracks in the sidewalk and merge with the crowd.

His scuffed boots are two people ahead of me, and I curiously watch those boots as they step to the side. The passengers in front of me get on the bus and when I step up next, my eyes meet his once more. Still smiling, he nods at me, and my lips curve before I quickly scamper up the steps. There are no seats available so I mumble, _"Excuse me, excuse me,"_ and make my way towards the back. I squeeze my small body in between two people and hang onto the closest available pole. I try to not look towards the front, but every now and then, I get a glimpse of his funny hat.

The bus starts to thin out as it makes its stops, and I find a seat. He continues to stand near the front, and I stare intently out the window, purposely avoiding him. His stop arrives, and it feels safe, so I look up and watch the back of his gray wool coat as he moves towards the exit. He pauses and turns his head, his eyes finding mine. He smiles, a softer smile this time before he nods and departs the bus. I stare at my fidgeting hands and the bus roars to life, but I don't dare look out the window again.

I'm the last stop and winter's darkness has fallen. A blast of icy wind hits me head-on, causing me to stumble a bit. Wrapping my scarf around my face, I shove my gloved hands in my pockets and push my slight body against the wind. I have to fight it and even though I only have one block to walk, I'm exhausted by the time I get home.

Once inside the warmth of my apartment, I grin when Oliver greets me, meowing and rubbing his furry body between my legs. After quickly removing my gloves, I lean down and scratch his calico ears, so thankful for his companionship. I toss my hat and scarf on the table by the door and hang up my coat before I head to the kitchen to open him a can of cat food.

I heat myself up some soup and eat quietly while I think about the man in the funny hat. I think about his smiles, all twelve of them, or is it thirteen now? I don't know how to count the ones outside the bus, but I try to find meaning behind all of them, to quantify them somehow, but do smiles even have meaning? Of course, they have meaning. They're a form of communication, albeit a silent form. His all seemed cordial, like a greeting perhaps. Like a thoughtful person showing kindness to a stranger, so I come to the conclusion that the man in the funny hat is simply a nice person with a nice smile trying to brighten someone's day. And he did brighten mine.

I spend the rest of the evening in my comfy chair wrapped in a blanket, reading a book with Oliver purring beside me. I have to read one passage three times because I lack focus. I am distracted by warm smiles and funny hats.

Later, I fluff my pillows and make my bed on the couch as usual. Sleep normally evades me and when it does come, it brings terrors from the darkest depths. But when I close my eyes, I see him there and for the first time in the longest while, I fall asleep with a smile of my own.

The nightmares stay away for once, and I dream of a tall man with a gentle smile, standing at the bus stop...

Wearing a funny hat.


	2. Chapter 2

_**TO THE LIGHT **_

_**CHAPTER 2 **_

I stare up into the white glow of the street light and watch the snow as it falls in slants. Closing my eyes, I let the huge flakes land on my face and my lips curl when they instantly melt against my warm skin. A handful of us stand there, trying to stay warm as we wait for the bus.

It finally arrives and I follow a woman with a sleeping toddler in her arms up the two steps. The rows remain empty, waiting to be filled, and I carefully choose my seat. I always pick the same one: the middle section, window seat, passenger side. It provides the best view of that one particular stop.

Sitting down, I situate my bag and as the warmth of the heated bus surrounds me, I loosen my scarf and remove my gloves. I stare out the window and watch the snow as the bus chugs closer and closer to his stop. I swallow hard when the bus makes its wide left turn. Straining my neck, I press my hat against the window, my eyes searching, and then I see him. Only today the funny hat has a light dusting of snow on top of it.

I quickly sit back against the seat, not wanting to get caught staring, but the window has fogged from my breath so I quickly wipe it with my coat sleeve. With my head facing straight ahead, I covertly keep my eyes on him through the window. He and several other people step up to the curb and I avert my eyes when he glances up in my direction.

The door opens and people start filing in. I notice that he's third in line and I try to not look at his face, I try not to search for another smile, but I feel a tugging towards him. I'm drawn to his kind smiles. Our eyes meet and there's a smile waiting for me and I welcome it. My lips curve upwards before I look back out the window again.

My periphery fails me this time so I wait. I listen for the bus doors to close and I feel the driver put the bus in gear. The man in the funny hat has surely found a seat by now so I feel safe in glancing around. I turn my head and my eyes widen. The man in the funny hat has chosen the aisle seat adjacent to me. I continue staring at him with what I'm sure must be an anxious, bewildered expression. He pulls a book from his backpack before he stows the sack under his seat. With a hard grip on his book, he closes his eyes tight, takes in a deep breath and blows it out slowly. He mumbles something unintelligible in what sounds like French before he turns his head towards me. His gaze is soft as it roams over every centimeter of my face and I can almost feel it like a gentle touch. My face blooms with warmth as he says "Hi," on a burst of air.

I freeze. It's such a small word. Only two letters. A simple salutation uttered by millions of people millions of times each day, but he's saying it to _me_ which makes it different somehow. I swallow hard and quickly clear my throat before I mumble "Hi," in response. An exquisite grin wrestles free on his face and I gulp before I quickly look back out the window again.

I feel self-conscience now because of his close proximity and I don't know why I am so affected by a man who has only spoken one word to me. I force my gaze through the glass again but I see nothing because I am focused solely on the man I am not looking at. I turn my head just enough so that I can see him from the corner of my eye. He's reading, his back stiff, holding his book in two hands engrossed in his story and probably completely unaware of me and my slight obsession with him. He only said "hi" to me to be friendly and I know I've been reading more into his smiles than I should. Sighing, I look back out the window and make myself relax a little.

The bus makes its normal stops and he stands and lets a woman take his seat, moving somewhere to the back. An older woman sits down next to me and I want to glance back at him, but I resist. The bus pulls up to our final destination in the center of downtown and everyone begins to exit. I slip on my gloves, reach for my bag, and stay seated while I wait on the lady next to me. Glancing up, my breath quickens when I see him standing there. The woman hobbles out into the aisle, and smiling, he nods for me to exit next. I meet his eyes for the briefest second before I step in front of him.

I feel him behind me, very aware of his unseen presence. Holding onto the railing, I carefully maneuver off the bus, my boots landing in slush.

After taking a few steps, I stop when I hear a voice from behind me. It has a richness and warmth to it that I find appealing. "Have a nice day," he calls out.

I turn. He adjusts his funny hat and smiles, a truly genuine smile. I accept it and give him one in return although a bit smaller than his but still as true and I wonder how many smiles I have given him.

"Thank you. You too," I say softly before quickly dashing off to the right.

As I trudge towards work and my boots make splashing sounds in the slushy puddles, I consider the new four words he just said to me. I mechanically say those four words to each of my customers at the bank every day. I've probably said those four words thousands of times over the last year alone. Those words are so rote to me, so insignificant.

Looking up at the dark sky, the snow starts again and I smile. Those four words spoken to me by the man in the funny hat now have new meaning.

I tuck them away.

In a special place.

And I know that today, every time I say those four words to my customers, I will think of him.


	3. Chapter 3

_**TO THE LIGHT **_

_**CHAPTER 3 **_

I clock out and move with the crowd of professionals, our shoulders occasionally bumping, as we all push towards our freedom: the impressive glass revolving doors of the bank tower. The snow has stopped and the temperature has warmed just enough to melt the small amount of accumulation from this morning.

Eagerness moves my boots quickly towards the bus stop and I can feel the anticipation in my stomach. I slow my pace and frown as I quickly glance around the crowd, searching for him. I can't find the funny hat and the bubble in my stomach starts to dissipate. I loiter around at the back of the group of people that have gathered and keep my eyes trained in his direction, searching through all of the faces on the sidewalk, but I come up empty.

I'm next on the bus. I glance around in all directions one last time and see that several stragglers have lined up behind me, but still no man in the funny hat. Sighing heavily, I step onto the bus and insert my pass before I grab the first vertical railing. I crane my neck as I try to look through the windows towards the direction that he goes every morning but the crowd of passengers on the bus makes it difficult for me to see anything.

I hear scuffling sounds behind me and turn. Inhaling sharply, I watch a breathless and now laughing man in the funny hat insert his pass and mumble, _"I almost didn't make it,"_ to the bus driver.

His eyes find mine and he smiles a happy, relieved sort of smile but before I can smile back, he walks towards me and I panic. I yank my eyes away and grip the pole with both hands as my chest tightens and my heart patters. I watch from my periphery as he steps next to me and grabs the overhead railing right next to me. The bus takes off and my grasp on the pole increases until it's almost painful.

"Hi," he says quietly. A small word with so much warmth.

I clear my throat and still don't look at him even though I can most certainly feel him standing there. "Hi," I respond and it kind of comes out as a whisper.

"Did you have a nice day?" he asks in his pleasant, almost musical voice.

Swallowing hard, I nod and manage a garbled "yes."

"Good," I hear him say. "That's good."

The bus makes its first stop and several people shuffle past. I don't move a muscle and the man in the funny hat doesn't either. The bus takes off and with my breathing shallow, I balance myself.

"My name is Edward."

I gather the courage and glance at him. "I'm Bella," I say with an unattractive squeak.

He freezes. Closing his eyes, his lips move silently breathing my name before he whispers, _"Parfaite."_

I'm confused. Why would he say "perfect" in French?

There's a pause before he suddenly coughs, shakes his head, and clears his throat.

All at the same time.

I frown.

"Sorry," he mumbles as his eyes find mine. He seems to have regained himself. "It's nice to meet you."

"Um, you too."

I look away and he grows quiet and I stay completely silent. The stops come and go and seats open up, but I remain standing. When I see his stop approaching, my pulse quickens. The bus grinds to a stop and I brave a glance at him. "I hope to see you tomorrow," he says as he adjusts his backpack. He stares at me for a heartbeat longer before turning and quickly making his way off the bus.

Sinking down into the nearest empty seat, I blow out a heavy breath. Just as the bus driver puts the bus in gear and starts to take off, I sit up straight and look out the window. I see him standing there, unmoving, staring at the bus as it pulls away. He disappears from sight and I collapse back down into my seat again.

The man in the funny hat now has a name.

_Edward. _

I say his name in my mind several times, trying it out. I think about his name. I contemplate it. I don't know anyone with that name. I know fictional characters with that name and Edward from _Jane Eyre_ comes to mind. I think of his name as a dignified sort of name. A formal name. Older and one that has fallen out of fashion. I think that name would likely go with an old soul, a kind old soul. He seems kind and I am so preoccupied with my thoughts that I don't even notice when the doors open at my stop.

Stepping off the bus, the chilled air hits me but I barely feel it.

I just had a conversation with the man in the funny hat. A small conversation but still a conversation and _Edward_ hopes to see me tomorrow.

It starts to snow again and I stop. Looking up at the dismal, wintry sky, I close my eyes and relish the feeling of the icy flakes that fall gently on my face. I smile, an honest, sincere smile and I feel lighter. Like the darkness I once endured never happened.


	4. Chapter 4

**_TO THE LIGHT_**

**_CHAPTER 4_**

I lay on the couch with the lights on but I don't sleep. Oliver has no trouble sleeping and as I stare up at him sprawled out on the top of the couch, I feel envious. I wish I could sleep like him. I wish I could sleep like a cat.

Heaving a sigh, I push my warm blankets off and make my way into the kitchen. I heat a cup of milk and think about how easily I dozed off last night. For the first time in a long time, I didn't awaken to fear crushing my bones. I so hoped that tonight might be a repeat but I should have known better. My untethered thoughts about Edward have unfortunately - or fortunately, I'm not sure which - kept the Sandman from visiting me this evening.

Yawning, I stretch my arms overhead and rub my sleepy eyes. After finishing my milk, I curl up in the chair and try to read, but can't. Closing it, I set it to the side and walk over to the window. Peeling the curtain back, I listen as the blustery wind whips against the broken metal awning over my window causing it to creak and crack.

I stare outside for a while watching the traffic and the occasional bundled-up pedestrian walk by before I finally drop the curtain and shuffle my socked feet to the couch again. Slipping under the blankets, I close my eyes and try to focus on the temporary darkness my eyelids provide, but I immediately see Edward's smiling face. I push his image to the side and breathe slowly in and out, focusing on my breath alone. I eventually fall asleep and get a good two hours before I wake up with a scream on my lips and my heart trying to tunnel through my chest.

Eventually, I calm down. I get ready for work and arrive early at the bus stop before everyone else with a nervous knot of energy in my stomach. People begin collecting around me and I anxiously stare down the road watching for the bus. It comes into view and the knot in my stomach tightens.

The brakes squeal to a stop and we line up. After inserting my pass, I hesitate. I glance at my normal seat before looking around at all of the other empty seats. If I sit in my normal seat, I might not be able to talk to him, but that is exactly what I should do so I tell myself to not veer from my normal destination. I have to stop chasing smiles. I have to remember who I am and what I've done so I rush to my usual seat and sit. Clutching the strap of my bag tightly, I intently study the wear patterns of the blue seat beside me. I tell myself over and over again to stay put - _don't do it_ \- but for some unknown reason, I move over to the aisle seat and wait.

The bus makes the wide left turn towards his stop and my entire body tenses. Sitting up in my seat, my eyes eagerly search for him. When he comes into view, I feel a jolt in my chest when he glances up in my direction. I quickly sit back in my seat, my breath quick and shallow.

He inserts his pass and his eyes immediately find mine. He smiles a different smile today and I try to read its hidden message. I think it's a "I was hoping to see you again" smile but there's something more to it that I can't quite put my finger on. He makes his way towards me and I hold his gaze a bit longer before quickly looking down at my lap. He sits in the aisle seat opposite me with only the small center walkway separating us. He's so close. The space feels cramped with his presence.

"Good morning," he says quietly, dropping his bag by his boots.

I glance at him and I like his smiles so much that I'm not upset by the fact that I've completely lost count of them. "Hi," I mumble, amazed that even his eyes smile. I look away and rub my gloves nervously between my fingers.

We are both quiet for several minutes before he blurts, _"I have an exam today."_

"Excuse me?"

Closing his eyes, he scrunches his face up and shakes his head. I think I hear an _"idiot"_ under his breath. "I don't know where that came from," he mumbles with a chuckle. "Guess it's nerves."

I'm a bit relieved that nerves seem to be a problem on both sides of the aisle.

"I'm going back to school part-time," he says with what looks like a touch of embarrassment. "I have an exam today and I crammed last night but… I don't know. I'm worried."

"What are you studying?"

"Well, I'm kind of undecided at the moment," he says, with a half-grin. "I've been out of school too long."

He's not been out of school that long. He looks my age. Maybe late twenties.

"I own a bookstore over on Seventh Avenue," he continues. "When I'm not in class, I'm manning the store."

I nod.

"Do you work?" he asks.

"Yes. I'm a bank teller."

"That's nice," he says.

The bus stops and several people move toward us. Edward stands, grabs his bag and offers his seat to an older woman.

A large man approaches me. "Can you move over?" he asks gruffly. I glance back at Edward and he has moved towards the back. With a sigh, I scooch over to the window seat.

We arrive downtown and everyone begins exiting the bus but the large man beside me doesn't budge. Edward stops at our row and offers to let the man out, but he waves him on by. After the bus has emptied, the man beside me finally gets up. I follow him off the bus and swallow hard when I see Edward waiting on me.

He shoves his hands in his pockets. "So, I'll see you tonight?" he asks hopefully.

My lips curve and I nod.

"I hope you have another nice day."

"Thank you. And good luck on your test."

He laughs. "Thanks. I'm going to need it."

I'm just about to walk away when the strangest expression flashes across his face. I try to decipher it. _Surprise? Amazement? Astonishment?_ I'm not sure. His eyes are so intent like he's trying to memorize every inch of my face, and it's too much. Frowning, I glance away, my skin flushing under his scrutiny.

"I'm sorry," he says, rushed. "I didn't mean to do that it's just... I... I'm so happy to have met you."

I dare a glance at him. "I really mean that," he says.

Our eyes linger on each other's for a moment longer before I drop my gaze to the sidewalk not really sure what to say.

"Well, I guess I'll say 'bye' now," he says.

My eyes find his for the briefest of seconds before I nod and dash away.

As I blend into the crowd, something foreign yet familiar stirs inside of me. Something that was gouged, brutally ripped away. Something that I thought I could never recover again.

The tiniest thread - the width of a spider's web - weaves its way through me and I...

Feel.

I feel something.

I haven't felt anything in the longest time.

I've been completely emotionless, living my life robotically, full of routine. Making myself get through one day after another with no purpose. Just putting my hours in on this earth until I can punch out.

Punishment keeps me in bondage, but right now, I lift my life sentence.

Breathing deeply, I allow myself to embrace it. It seeps into my skin and penetrates my bones and even though I know the certainty of my unworthiness, I find I'm thankful to Edward for helping me find it again.

Even though it may be only for a moment.


	5. Chapter 5

_**TO THE LIGHT **_

_**CHAPTER 5 **_

I watch the clock, anxiously awaiting my first break. It finally arrives and I steal away to the lunchroom and pull out my phone. I Google "bookstores" near me and the first one that pops up is on Seventh Avenue. My heart stutters a beat when I read the name: "Masen's Old and Rare Books." I click on the link and explore the website. Although basic and to the point, it has a professional yet charming "old-world" quality to it.

I stare at the address and as I sit there, I think about my lunch break.

_I could skip lunch today and take a walk. Just to see the place. _

_"No!"_ I mumble under my breath as I stand and tuck my phone back into my pocket. I scold myself for my reckless thoughts and cannot believe I even entertained the idea. No way am I going there. That is so out of my comfort zone it's not even funny.

Heading back to my station, I wait on and greet customers, but my eyes constantly shift to the clock watching as noon ticks closer and closer.

An attractive man with blonde, wavy hair steps forward. I address him with my trained bank greeting and customary required smile as he hands me a check he wants deposited. Deep, mottled scars that look like burns cover every inch of exposed skin on his hands and wrists. I wonder what kind of tragedy could have caused such a thing and can only imagine the pain that he went through. I notice his name on the deposit ticket - a Mr. Jasper Whitlock - before I look up his account.

"I get so tired of this weather," he says with a pleasing Texas twang.

"Yes, it does wear on a person."

"At least it's nice out there now," he says with half-a-grin. "Cold, but not a cloud in the sky. I walked over here from Jackson Street. Nice day to do it. Gotta enjoy the rare good days when we get one, huh?"

He has such an infectious smile that it easily pulls one from me.

"Sometimes a walk leads us right where we need to go," he says with crinkly blue eyes.

I immediately think of the bookstore.

_Edward would never know if I took a little peek, would he? _

Mr. Whitlock taps his knuckles on the counter and winks before walking away. I quickly shut down my station for lunch and tug on my boots and outerwear before making my way towards the revolving doors. The cold air hits me as it whips through the tall buildings and I glance up at the clear blue sky. Not a cloud to be seen, just like Mr. Whitlock described. I take in a deep breath and walk in the direction of the bookstore.

After traversing two blocks, I round the corner and see the sign about half a block down the street. I stop in my tracks and someone bumps into me from behind. Mumbling my apologies, I move over to the side out of the way. The sign itself looks old and weathered as it hangs from a black wrought iron post, yet the name - in dark blue letters - looks newer. Two faded-blue awnings hover over a couple of wooden benches that sit outside on the sidewalk. Several people are seated busy on their phones and I watch from my safe distance not daring to get any closer.

I stand there for several minutes and the door to the bookstore opens. I panic, afraid it might be him, and turn abruptly, walking straight into someone's chest. "Whoa, are you okay?" a man's voice asks, his hands grasping my upper arms to steady me. My eyes widen and my mouth drops open when I look up into Edward's shocked face. _"Bella?"_ he asks in a stunned voice. He just stands there, so close, too close, his hands still on my arms and I can feel his touch like hot skin on hotter skin as it scorches through my coat and the layers of my clothing.

He stares down at me with that weird, almost awed, expression again and I yank myself away from his grasp. I'm completely mortified that I got caught snooping on him and start walking as fast as I can back towards the bank.

"Bella, wait. _Please…"_ he begs and the desperation in his voice stops me. With my heart thundering, I slowly turn around.

"I didn't mean to… hold you like that, I mean I was just so surprised that I ran into you, so pleasantly surprised, you have no idea and I… well, this is such a… I mean, I…" he says before he starts laughing and looks up at the sky. "I'm so tongue-tied right now. Bella, do you have a few minutes? I'd love to show you my store."

I shake my head frantically. "No, I... well, I… um, have to, uh…"

"Please? Just five minutes?"

I quickly glance back in the direction of the bank that I so desperately want to flee to before looking again at his eager face. I internally war with myself for a moment or two before my shoulders slump and I give him a small nod.

"Great," he says, grinning so happily as we both begin walking. "Are you on your lunch break?"

I hum in response.

"Good," he says, smiling and nodding, but this smile is different. He's practically beaming at me and I don't understand why.

I focus on putting one foot in front of the other and can feel my heart pound so hard beneath my skin that surely my buttons quiver with each beat. He greets all the people sitting on the benches before opening the door for me. The bell dings overhead and I step inside and just stand there, staring. Hundreds of old books with tattered bindings line the walls of the small store and I immediately get hit with the comforting smell of aging paper and musty books.

A grandmotherly woman with a pile of white hair gathered in a bun on top of her head sits behind the cash register. She looks up at us curiously over her bright red, horn-rimmed glasses that have a gold chain attached.

"Do you want me to take your coat?" Edward asks. I glance over at him and my breath catches in my throat. He has his coat and funny hat in his hands and I stare at his head. He has hair. A lot of hair. Nice hair. Hair that has been hidden by the funny hat and I'm so shocked by it that I just continue to rudely stare at it.

The corner of his mouth turns upwards as he quickly runs his hand through his nice hair, mussing it. "Sorry," he mutters. "It gets a little out of control on me. That's why I lean towards hats. Do you want me to take your coat?" he politely asks again. I shake my head and keep my hat and gloves in place.

"Um, Sue…" Edward says carefully. "This is _Bella._ I _accidentally_ ran into her," he says, giving her a look before turning towards me. "Bella, this is Sue. She lives upstairs and helps cover the bookstore when I'm not here. She's also a very close friend and practically family."

Sue's eyebrows lift and her mouth gapes as her startled gray eyes dart back and forth between Edward and myself. She stares at me strangely as if I'm an oddity or something. Turning her head, she coughs like she's covering her surprise before adjusting her glasses. "So, you're the pretty girl from the bus," she finally says and my heart pounds even harder. My eyes dart to Edward and he groans and shakes his head and I feel like the book-lined walls are going to cave in on me. My thoughts are frenzied because I'm still trying to get used to warm smiles and funny hats and his funny hat is gone and I shouldn't even be here right now and she said those two words and my throat tightens and I'm fighting for oxygen and my heart beats wildly and…

"You're even prettier than he described," Sue says interrupting my raging thoughts and I see another warm smile, only from her this time, and I glance down at her extended hand and my eyes dart to Edward's embarrassed face and…

I run.

With my heart in my throat and panic clawing at my insides, I throw open the door and run as fast as I can. I hear Edward's voice behind me, calling out my name, but I run.

All I can do is run.


	6. Chapter 6

_**TO THE LIGHT **_

_**CHAPTER 6 **_

Rounding the corner, I throw open the first available door and dash inside. The room spins and a vice-like grip clamps around my throat as I lunge forward. With my hands trembling, I brace them on my knees and frantically heave, trying desperately to get air into my starved lungs. Eyes clenched tight, I chant in my mind, _"You're not going to die, you're not going to die, you're not going to die,"_ over and over again until my agonized gasps begin to lessen and air starts to expand my lungs.

I think someone asks me if I'm okay but I'm not sure. I breathe in and out, nice and slow, and my heart rate decreases and finally returns to manageable levels.

Glancing up, I frown, completely disoriented. I'm in an upscale restaurant with dozens of people staring at me. A manager touches my shoulder and asks me if I need him to call 911. I quickly shake my head and race to the door, peeking my head out. I don't see Edward anywhere so I bolt out of the restaurant and hurry back to work, nervously glancing over my shoulder every couple of seconds.

With a bottle of water in my hand, I collapse into a chair in the lunchroom completely exhausted. Gulping down a quarter of the cold liquid, I wipe my mouth and wonder how I'm going to get home tonight because I cannot take the bus. But I have to take the bus because I don't have enough money for a taxi. Sighing heavily, I cross my arms and rest my head on the table resigned by the fact that I am stuck.

I have no clue how I'm going to face Edward, but I'm sure he won't even want to talk to me anyway because who wants to talk to a person who panics over a simple compliment? I hate how I reacted but I can't control my panic attacks. They hit me out of left field when I least expect it.

_But it was her words... _

Rubbing my temples, I push the thought away. I should have never started this thing with Edward in the first place. I knew better. I should have ignored his warm smiles, hidden how much they affected me because I know my reality. My life is hard. Every day and every night is a struggle. I barely get by sometimes and I can't bring another person into it especially someone like Edward.

I think of Sue and the look on her face and my stomach pitches. She seemed so nice and lovely and I didn't even shake her hand. I can't imagine what she thinks of me. I wish I could go back and apologize to her, but I know I won't.

The afternoon goes by way too quickly. I can't keep my eyes off of the clock and I keep wishing the hands would somehow click backwards. I find it difficult to interact with customers. My forced smiles feel even more awkward on my face.

With sweaty palms, I clock out. My stomach churns nauseously as I slip on my hat and gloves. I drag my feet as slow as possible considering the bustling crowd around me but I stop mid-stride when I catch sight of the funny hat. My mouth parts as I suck in a huge gust of air. Someone crashes into me from behind, sending me forward a step or two but I instantly recover and turn on a dime, cutting my way back through the one-way traffic of nine-to-fivers.

_Why is he here? How does he know where I work? What am I going to say? Why won't he go away? _

Question after question filters through my mind as I practically run to the rear exit. Pushing open the door to my freedom, I gulp in choppy breaths as my heart jackrabbits in my chest.

Closing my eyes, I pull in a shuddering lungful of air and let it out slowly. I repeat it a couple more times until I start to feel myself relax a little. Opening my eyes, they immediately widen in disbelief when I see Edward approaching. Leaning back against the building, I slump, squeezing my eyes shut, my body reacting in all sorts of unusual ways as I wait for his dreaded arrival.

"Bella, I don't mean to be chasing you," he says, his words tumbling after each other. "It's just that I am so sorry about what happened earlier and I hope you can accept my apology and I need to talk to you and - "

"Wait. Don't say anything else," I mumble between heartbeats as I push off of the building and finally look at him. His face is pale, brows pinched, lips a fine line.

I roughly clear my throat. "Please tell Sue how sorry I am. For the way I acted. I... I think you should go your way. And I go mine. And I thank you. For your smiles. I really needed them but this is for the best."

_"No,"_ he says with startled eyes. "It can't end like this."

Frowning, I cower as he steps closer, determined.

"It can't," he continues in a panicked voice. "This isn't how it's supposed to go."

Confused, I step around him and start treading quickly towards the bus stop, but he grabs my arm. My breath hitches as I feel his touch again like it's directly on my skin. His eyes widen and he drops his hand like he just got branded.

"Bella, will you _please_ listen to me for just a moment?" he pleads.

With my chest heaving, my mind yells for me to continue on with my escape route, but when I see his almost suffering expression, I stop my movements.

"I didn't mean to scare you. That was so not my intention and if you only knew my intentions, you would understand. I want to apologize for talking to Sue about you. I'm sure that upset you but please know that I've only been speaking to her about you in the best possible way, I… " he says as he scrunches his face and rubs the back of his neck. "I confided in her and told her everything. I mean, she's known all along… I mean I told her that I had noticed you at the bus stop and that you had the most beautiful smile I'd ever seen, but there's even more to it, so much more that you don't even know about, but Bella, I have to fix this. I have to make things right. We can't have this between us. I was so happy that I ran into you earlier that I felt like it was… I don't even know… I felt like it was… _something more_…"

Inhaling his words, they warm me as they spiral downwards and outwards catching flight along my bloodstream. Turning away, I tug on my hat and a smile splits my face. I laugh as all of the worry that I'd just put myself through falls off of me like heavy shackles to the pavement, freeing me. I laugh from my heart for the first time in I don't know how long and it courses through my body soothing my rawest places.

I've ran from Edward twice in one day and I know I should run again. I know _he_ should run, but I put those thoughts away, at least for now.

Breathing in the chilly air, I turn back towards him and stare up into his hopeful, perplexed face. "Are we okay?" he whispers.

"Yes," I say softly.

He lets loose a shaky laugh.

"Thank you," I say.

His brows draw together as he cocks his head to the side. "What for?"

"For making me smile again."

His face softens. "You lost your smile?" he asks gently, studying my face.

I breathe deeply, a purifying breath, and nod. I used to have so many smiles. So many variations with so many meanings that I effortlessly shared with everyone - especially my closest - but I lost even the most basic one long ago. My smiles have taken on no meaning. It's like my automatic nervous system has been simply doing its job - moving my mouth into a certain shape.

I can see he understands, somehow, his tender, curving lips telling me so. "I feel honored that I was the one to make you smile again," he says, his words squeezing my dead heart.


	7. Chapter 7

**_TO THE LIGHT_**

**_CHAPTER 7_**

"How did you know where I work?" I ask.

"Um, it was the closest bank... so I just assumed..."

"Oh."

"Did I frighten you? I'm so sorry if I did," he says his eyes tight and worried.

"No, you just startled me. And you can stop apologizing now."

"Oh yeah, I'm sor - " Edward says before he laughs and squeezes his eyes shut. "I'll try to stop."

"I'm the one that needs to apologize."

"No, Bella, you have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one that forced you into that situation. You clearly told me you didn't want to go see the bookstore but I pushed you and insisted and-"

"I was uncomfortable."

"I know," he says guilt splashed across his face.

"But you didn't scare me off."

"I didn't?"

"No. It's just that I... I have..." I say, clenching my fists by my sides as I briefly turn my attention to people scuttling past.

"Are you in a relationship? I noticed you didn't have a ring," he asks startling me. My eyes dart to his. "I don't mean to be intrusive..."

"No, it's okay, it's just..." I say, my brows knitting together, "um... no, no relationship."

The word feels strange on my tongue.

Closing his eyes, he nods. "I knew you didn't," he mumbles before his eyes pop open. "I mean I _thought_ you didn't. I mean that's good, great actually," he says with a laugh before looking in the direction of the bus stop. "We'd better get going or we're both going to be walking home tonight."

We arrive just as the last two people are boarding.

The bus is packed so I can't squeeze my way to the back like I want but I get about half-way. I find a spot and grab onto the railing firmly - my body a tight wire - before I swivel around to check Edward's position. The wire snaps and my body relaxes when I catch sight of him standing towards the front. His gaze is on me, though, lips upturned as he tilts his head in my direction. Turning back, my eyelids shut and I lean heavily against the railing.

The bus grumbles to life and I sway back and forth as it begins its route. I force my gaze out the window, but all I want to do is look at Edward. I can feel his stares on me, beckoning me, but I refuse to give in.

Stops come and go and seats open up, but I remain standing, glued to my spot. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I didn't eat lunch as it flips uncomfortably. His stop is next and I know I have to turn around, at least to say goodbye. I prepare myself to speak and try to swallow but have to work hard at it due to my parched mouth.

I turn and jerk all over when I find him standing directly behind me.

"Oops," he says laughing. "I would say I'm sorry but you told me not to."

Quick pants leave my mouth as I try to tame my runaway heart.

He glances out the window and back at me. "I have to go, but I'll see you in the morning, right?"

I nod.

"Bright and early. Keep smiling, Bella, because your smiles are beautiful."

His words bring one to the surface, even though I know I'm not beautiful, and he gifts me with one in return.

The bus grinds to a stop and I hear the doors open.

"Goodnight," he says softly before trudging down the aisle.

I stay standing and watch him until he disappears from sight before I collapse into a seat. Curling into myself, I rest my head against the window and watch the dark shapes go by, nothing in focus, just a muddy mirage. I'm exhausted. My thoughts are in shambles as I try to grasp and decipher the disjointed fragments of Edward's words that flit through my brain.

As the bus moves closer and closer to my destination, I fall from my high as reality sets in. I'm headed back to my lonely apartment, my exile. Edward's words, the excitement, the smiles he pulled from me that were attached to my heart with a string - all of it collapses with a snip from a sharp blade.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I retrieve it and sigh. I have ten missed calls and twenty-three texts from her. From my mother.

I delete all of them without a glance and turn my phone off.

My stop arrives and I exit the bus. A blast of air plows into me, sharper and more bitter than normal and I have to fight my way to my apartment. Oliver almost trips me, talking up a storm, quite the conversationalist this evening. I pick him up and stare into his furry face covered in orange, black and white before I hug him close.

I fix myself a sandwich and pick at the bread. I need to make my phone call that I make three times a week, but I don't want to.

I stare at my phone for a while. I honestly don't even want to touch it. I don't know how long I sit there before I finally rub my thumb over the dark, glass surface, thinking. I hate doing this. I hate that I hold onto this useless hope that gets shattered every single time, but I need to be strong. For Dad. I can't give up no matter how much I want to. Dad needs my strength even when I'm at my weakest.

I turn the phone on and dial the number.

The phone is answered and Irina gives her usual greeting.

"Hey, Irina, it's Bella."

"Hey, Bella. How're you doing?"

"I'm good. How is he?"

She sighs. "About the same. He's been pacing the floors today."

"For how long?"

"A couple of hours but Laurent got him settled and he's doing good now. He's watching some TV."

_I wish I could talk to him. I wish he knew who I was._

"Tell him I love him, okay?"

"I certainly will and he knows you do, Bella."

We say our goodbyes and I sit stoic for a while. It's like all of my emotions have been drained from my body, like I have nothing left. Like I'm just a pile of flesh, blood and bone. Nothing more.

I stare off into space listening to my breathing and trying to keep my mind clear but this profound sadness comes over me. It's ruthless, biting.

I sit on the sofa, pull my legs to my chest and wrap a blanket tightly around me and think about Edward. I still can't believe he showed up at my work like that, so worried, when I was the one that ran out on him.

_You know why you ran._

Grabbing my head, I squeeze my eyes trying so hard to shove the thought away, scratch it, yank it from my mind but I can't stop it.

_"So, you're the pretty girl from the bus..."_

I double over as a knife-like stab hits me in the gut. I've heard "pretty girl" occasionally from customers over the past two years and every single time, I've had to run to the bathroom as a panic attack ricocheted through my body. Those two words are my biggest trigger. They slam into me every time and remind me of that awful day. The day I've replayed a million times in my head. The day I've begged and pleaded with God to let me repeat. The day I caused the destruction of everything I loved. The day I brought hell onto myself.

Holding my stomach and rocking back and forth, I shout, _"What are you doing?"_ to the silent room.

I don't need an answer. I know exactly what I'm doing. I _want_ Edward's smiles, I _want_ Edward's words, I want so many things that I shouldn't want.

I want things I don't deserve.

Things I will never deserve.


	8. Chapter 8

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 8**_

I predict that I won't sleep, and I don't. I do, however, doze off twice before awakening with a rapid drumming of doom in my chest. You would think I would be used to it by now. I've had hundreds of panic attacks while awake and in my sleep yet every single time is like the first. I awaken, sweaty and gasping for air, my heart trying to puncture itself through my chest with an awful feeling of abject terror gripping me, encapsulating me, its talons sinking into my skin and dragging me under.

Yet every single time, I recover. I pull through. The fear is a mirage. It can't kill me, but it tries to trick me into thinking it can.

I get ready for work and Oliver tries to impede my progress by rubbing on my legs. He jumps up on my dresser and meows as he rubs his face against my arms and chin. I pick him up and hug him tightly to my chest, his purr soothing.

I check the clock and I'm still early. I grab my gun from beneath the couch where I keep it and slip it in my bag. After bundling up, I say my goodbyes to Oliver before locking up my apartment. A light dusting of snow from overnight covers the sidewalk as I make my way towards the bus stop.

I'm the first to arrive. It's still dark outside and as I glance up at the murky clouds overhead moving lazily along, the fear and despair I held onto last night has ebbed slightly.

As people gather around, I start nervously curling my toes in my boots until it's almost painful.

The bus approaches and I lick my chapped lips with a dry tongue. I get in line and insert my pass. I don't hesitate this time over the seating situation. Instead, I walk with purpose to the same aisle seat I sat in yesterday morning. I quickly remove my gloves and loosen my scarf before I check my hat and bangs, making sure they are aligned just right.

I lay my head back. Closing my eyes, I take in several deep breaths, trying to swoosh the anxiousness from my body.

My heart rate picks up with each spin of the bus's tires and each click of the odometer and before I know it, the bus makes its wide left turn towards his stop. I strain my neck, looking for him and he comes into view. I see him standing there - already staring in my direction - and when he sees me, he smiles. I can't help it so I smile in return before quickly lowering my gaze to my lap.

The bus doors open and he's the last one on. I glance up at him and his eyes stay fixed on mine as he makes his way towards me. "Good morning," he says quietly as he sits down in the aisle seat opposite me.

"Good morning," I say in response, my voice kind of hushed and my smile shy.

"I'm glad to see you're still smiling."

I smile bigger. "Me too."

He grins and I look away, but I can still see him from the corner of my eye. He reaches down for his backpack and unzips it. "Do you like poetry?" he asks.

"Um, yes, I do actually. But I haven't read any in a while."

He reaches down and retrieves an aged, tattered book from his book bag. "I was going through some old books last night and found this one. Check out this bookmark," he says as he opens the book. Tucked inside is an old, yellowed hundred-dollar bill. "I think this poem might be worth something, huh?"

A chirp of laughter escapes me.

"Do you mind if I read it?"

"Not at all. Go ahead."

"This is _Daffodils_ by William Wordsworth."

He begins reading and I'm immediately captivated by his silvery, symphonic voice. I watch his pleasing lips as the beautiful words take shape and form, falling songful-like from his mouth before my gaze lowers to his long, beautiful fingers embracing the book.

I listen carefully to the prose:

_I wandered lonely as a cloud  
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,  
When all at once I saw a crowd,  
A host, of golden daffodils;  
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,  
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze._

_Continuous as the stars that shine  
And twinkle on the milky way,  
They stretched in never-ending line  
Along the margin of a bay:  
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,  
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance._

_The waves beside them danced; but they  
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:  
A poet could not be gay,  
In such a jocud company:  
I gazed – and gazed – but little thought  
What wealth the show to me had brought:_

_For oft, when on my couch I lie  
In vacant or in pensive mood,  
They flash upon that inward eye  
Which is the bliss of solitude;  
And then my heart with pleasure fills,  
And dances with the daffodils._

Closing the book, he glances over at me. I swallow around a bubble in my throat.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asks softly.

I cough the bubble away. "Very," I say with a nod.

"I dunno. Daffodils in winter... I kinda liked it."

"I liked the last verse the best."

"Me too."

I stare down at my gloves that I am twisting between my fingertips.

"Oh, and look what I found," he says. I turn my head and watch as he bends down and reaches into his backpack and pulls out a single yellow daffodil. "I plucked this from the snow while I was waiting on the bus."

I laugh because there are no daffodils in the winter.

He grins. "William showed me the spot."


	9. Chapter 9

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 9**_

I twirl the daffodil in my hand watching the six outside petals spin like a yellow pinwheel. I'm shaken over Edward's thoughtfulness. The fact that he would go out of his way to buy a daffodil for a nobody like me? A stranger on a bus? I feel overwhelmed.

"Bella?" Edward asks, pulling me from my thoughts. "I have something I want to say before the bus fills up."

A skinny guy with red headphones wrapped around his neck and a waistband nearly at his knees pushes towards us. His heavy backpack is slung over his shoulder and as he passes, it slams into _my_ shoulder. I let out a little yip and nearly drop the flower.

Edward bristles. "Did he hit you?"

"No, it was nothing," I mumble. I want to rub my shoulder but I don't want to make a big deal out of it but it doesn't matter anyway because it looks like Edward is going to make a big deal out of it as I watch him jump up and stalk towards the back of the bus where the guy went. He's so fast I can't even protest.

"_Oh no,"_ I groan as I sink down into my seat. I hear raised voices and I want to drop through the floor, roll onto the pavement and vamoose out of here.

_What is Edward doing? That guy could have a knife or a gun or some brass knuckles, and maybe I should have my gun ready so I can save Edward and-_

Edward comes back and drops down onto the edge of his seat only now he's facing me and he's kind of all in the aisle and he's _right there_. I can't look at him because I just _can't_ and he's so close I can actually smell him and he smells clean and soapy like shaving cream and freshly washed man skin.

It's absolutely enthralling.

"You're okay?" he asks gently.

I sniff him again and I'm so embarrassed by my actions that it feels like a flame just torched the tops of my ears.

I cough frantically into the corner of my elbow. I know Edward must think I'm nuts.

"He told me to give you his sincerest apologies," Edward says calmly.

Curiosity gets to me. I quickly look back at the guy and he's sprawled out on the back bench with a snarl on his face and he promptly flips me the double bird.

As my head whips back around, laughter bursts from my lungs.

And Edward joins me.

"_Punk,"_ he mutters between chuckles and I laugh until my side hurts.

I feel his eyes on my skin. I glance up. The way he's staring at me... it yanks the air from my lungs.

People start to pass so he has to scoot back in his seat.

"You didn't have to do that," I say. "It was no big deal."

"It _was_ a big deal and hey, do you remember those benches outside of my store?"

I nod.

"Well, in a few hours, I'm going to be sitting on one of those benches and there's going to be an empty seat beside me. And if you happen to be walking by, say around noon, and you need somewhere to sit, you could sit down because there will be plenty of room." His expression is light-hearted, mischievous. "And I might be holding some French fries."

His eyebrows do funny things and I press my fingers to my mouth to stifle a laugh.

"French fries?" I repeat.

"Yes, French fries. Have you ever had Yorkie's fries?"

I shake my head.

"They're dripping in cheese and bacon. Do you like bacon?"

"I love bacon."

He laughs. "Who doesn't, right? And I promise I won't embarrass you and try to introduce you to anyone. You can just sit there and maybe eat a fry or two and you don't even have to talk if you don't want to. And you can leave any time you want."

I stare down at the flower in my lap and consider his proposal. I love these new feelings racing through me and how special he has made me feel but…

There are so many "buts" and this has moved very quickly to the "something more" category - there is no denying it now - but what if I can't do "something more?" What if I-

"And Bella?" he says. "It will make me really happy if you choose to sit beside me."

Eagerness glows in his golden features, his attractiveness nearly blinding me and even though I don't know anything about this man, I can see kindness exuding from him.

Pursing my lips, I think, scrambling for the right answer. I'm in a quandary. I want to sit with him on that bench, but if I choose this, if I show up, I'll be leading him on. I'll make him think we have a chance and I honestly don't know that we do.

"I'm not sure..."

"You don't have to say anything, Bella. You don't even have to talk. We can just be two random people sitting on a bench. That's all. Nothing more."

His thick brows are crowded and he's angled towards me. "Will you please consider it?"

People on the bus start to move past us so I incline my head slightly.

His face immediately loses its sparkle as he stands and lets someone sit in his seat before moving to the back of the bus. I scoot over and an older man with a cane sits down next to me.

I run my fingertips along the smooth green stem of the daffodil. I will treasure this. I actually treasure it already. It has so much meaning to me and it doesn't matter that it came from a stranger on a bus. Edward's thoughtfulness towards me and the poem he read has touched something deep inside of me long forgotten.

I glance back at him twice before we reach downtown. Both times, his eyes are on me but his face is downcast, wary. A wave of guilt sweeps over me, hating that I was the one that put that look on his face, but I know it needs to be there.

The bus rolls to a stop and people begin exiting. I still haven't made up my mind yet about lunch and I'm nervously chewing on the inside of my cheek trying desperately to come up with something to say.

"Bella?" Edward says when he stops at our row to let us out.

"Yes?"

"I have something I want to tell you when we get outside."

The moment my feet touch the pavement, Edward starts talking. "I had some time to think on the bus and I don't want to ruin this, Bella. I'm trying really hard to slow down. I feel this… _pull _towards you and I'm struggling. I'm _really _struggling. This pull I feel is strong and intense. You'll understand in time, but there is one thing you need to know right now."

He pauses for a minute, studying my face, his expression so sincere. "I'm really lonely, Bella," he says. "I've been lonely for a very long time and it's been forever since I've even tried to talk to a woman. I know I'm going to make mistakes so please be patient with me."

As I stand there, a peculiar sensation comes over me. My fingers begin to tingle. The pads of my fingertips itch and I find myself longing to touch him, almost like a compulsion. I don't understand where this came from so I squeeze my eyes shut and press my gloved hands tightly around the daffodil, trying my best to shake it off.

After a moment, I puff out a breath and open my eyes to creased brows and hesitant eyes. "I'll be there," I say quietly.

His face softens and his eyes carefully study mine. "Yeah?" he asks.

"Yeah."

A slow smile breaks free before he grins so big, his face almost shines. "I'm so happy," he says with a relieved chuckle. "You can't even know how happy you've made me, Bella."

My mouth contorts and I fight it but my lips curve upwards anyways. "And your smiles stun me," he continues. "I find it to be such a privilege and joy to make you smile but, Bella, I have to go or I'm going to be late for class."

Grinning from ear-to-ear, he takes a few steps backwards and an iced wind hits him from behind causing the goofy, colorful, worm-like dreadlocks of his hat to cover his face.

He flicks them out of the way and I laugh.

"Bella, I can't wait to see you again. I'll be waiting for you. On that bench."


	10. Chapter 10

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 10**_

Opening the refrigerator in the breakroom, I start moving food around so I can fit my lunch in it that I won't be eating today when I jostle Robert's flimsy, plastic grocery bag just enough that his sandwich pops out and flops on the tiled floor.

"_Oh my gosh," _I mutter as I quickly pick it up and start wiping the half-open plastic baggie with my hand.

"Employ the five second rule," Angela, one of my co-workers, says from behind me and I drop the sandwich again. "Remember when Lauren brought in donuts and Robert was late and got the last one? And he dropped it on the floor? And then rescued it? He won't mind, Bella."

Now guiltless, I place the sandwich back in his bag and shut the fridge. We share appalled looks until Angela laughs and my mouth twists at the corner.

"Do you want to eat lunch together today?" she asks gingerly.

She asks me this question frequently and every single time I turn her down and hide out in a corner somewhere to eat in solitude.

I keep everyone several yard sticks away.

She sees my hesitation and there is no way I'm mentioning that I already have plans. "It's okay," she says with a sad smile. "Maybe soon?"

"Maybe," I lie. I know I'm being inconsiderate to her but I feel I have to.

She leaves and I open cabinets until I find a vase that somebody left behind. I fill it with water and carry it back to my station. It's way too large for the single flower but I tenderly move the bloom this way and that until the daffodil is at its most perfect and beautiful angle.

Sitting down, I lift my hand and squint, staring at the little unique ridges on my fingertips that belong only to me. I can still feel that strange tingling to touch Edward and I'm puzzled by it. I don't know what Edward was mumbling about when he said that he was "struggling" and that he felt some kind of "pull" towards me. We literally know nothing about each other and we've only had a handful of stilted conversations but I have to admit I felt something a little odd that I can't quite explain.

Customers come and go and I try to focus on my job at hand but my eyes are constantly drawn to the daffodil. Its warm, yellow hue brightens my mood and every single time I look at it, I think about the man who gave it to me. The kind, lonely man named Edward.

I can't fathom how someone as special as him could be lonely. I, on the other hand, know loneliness all too well. Loneliness has encamped around me for far too long now. It's like I've erected an army of soldiers made of concrete to bar anyone from getting too close.

Loneliness has also taken away a piece of my humanity. It's robbed me of that one basic instinct: companionship. A simple connection with another human being. I don't have that connection with anyone right now. Not even with Dad…

I blink rapidly because I don't want to break down here at work and re-direct my thoughts back to Edward. I think about his smiles. I picture him sitting on that bench and the lonely feelings that usually weigh so heavily on my shoulders lighten. Like I've removed my coat and hung it on a rack.

I eagerly check the clock, my longing to sit with him on that bench much more than I could have ever anticipated. Time has moved so slowly this morning as if every click forward on the second hand has been followed by two clicks back.

On my break, I hurry off to the breakroom and pull up the poem he read to me on my phone. I read it over and over again, the beauty of the words sinking in. He couldn't have chosen anything more beautiful. At home, in the evenings, when I'm lying on my couch, I'll see that field of daffodils and I will think of Edward. Always.

I go back to work and stare at the daffodil - a little obsessively I have to admit - and noon finally arrives. With an already quickening pulse, I slip on my coat and with hasty feet make my way quickly towards the revolving doors. I don't flinch when the cold air hits me and I'm delighted to see a crystal blue sky with just a few white puffy clouds hovering high above the tall buildings. The buildings look distinguished like they have pillowy heads of gray hair.

I rush as fast as my feet can carry me - without tripping - towards the bookstore. As I round the corner, I immediately spot him. He's standing tall and staring in my direction, searching for me. He grins as I approach.

"Hello there," he says, charming me with two simple words.

"Hi," I say, biting back a smile.

"Do you need somewhere to sit?"

"Yes, I do actually."

"Please," he says, waving his hand gallantly towards the bench. "I would be honored if you would sit beside me."

"Thank you." He picks up a dark blue wool blanket and hands it to me before I sit down on the old, weathered bench.

"It's chilly. I thought that might help."

I murmur my thanks and wrap it around my legs.

He sits down next to me and there's more than a foot of space between us but it feels like an inch. His immensely handsome face radiates such happiness and his eyes... oh my, eyes I haven't noticed before. In the sunlight, their color reminds me of the stem on that daffodil.

"I hope you like hot chocolate."

"I love it. Thank you," I say as he hands me a cup and I carefully take it from him. Our gloved fingers brush each other and our eyes meet. Breath escapes me and I get that tingle again and squirm in my seat and adjust the blanket with my free hand.

"Do you think you'll be warm enough?"

I hum because I don't have much of a voice.

He picks up a food container and pops open the top. "Yorkie's famous fries. Try one," he says, offering it to me. "But I have to warn you. It might ruin you for any other fries in the future."

Peeping in, I slip off my glove and carefully choose one dripping in cheese and bacon. "So good," I whisper, nodding. Cracking a smile, he hands me a napkin before digging in himself.

I'm hyperaware of him as we sit there quietly eating the fries. His long legs are spread wide - nearly touching me - and he has the container perched on his right thigh. Even though people are hurrying by and downtown activity is hectic around us, it somehow feels intimate. Like it's just the two of us.

He's been staring at me since we sat down, making me incredibly self-conscious. He's trying to be sneaky about it but I sense it. And I've kept my eyes everywhere _except_ on him.

I sit rigidly. My ungloved hand is numb. I try not to but I begin to tremble.

"Are you cold?" he asks worriedly. "Of course, you're cold. Do you want to go inside? I shouldn't have - "

"No, no, I'm not cold. It's just... nerves."

"You're not the only one who's nervous," he says. I glance at him and he grins and has a big clump of cheese on his upper lip and thankfully I don't have any food in my mouth because I snort. Embarrassingly. And he laughs - probably nervously - before he even knows what I'm laughing at.

"You have a..." I say, waving at him.

"What?"

I snicker some more. "You have cheese on your... lip."

Silly smiling with that silly hat, his tongue snakes out and I warm inside and immediately look away.

"Did I get it?" he asks.

I fast-glance and nod. His face is a blur. He could have had a fry hanging from his lip and I wouldn't have seen it.

"Have some more," he says picking up the container and holding it up for me.

"Oh no, I'm good. Thanks." I slip my glove back on and shove my tightly-fisted hands in my coat pockets.

"Well, I'm sorry to show off my gluttonous side but I can't let any Yorkie's fries go to waste," he says sucking cheese off his fingers. "That would be sacrilegious."

I die a little and my feet feel sweaty in my boots even though I'm fighting shivers.

It doesn't take him long to finish them off.

"_Delicious,"_ he mutters as he tucks the empty container under the bench. "Fries are my nemesis. I might not be on the bus tonight because I might have to jog home," he says with a chuckle as he stretches his legs out and rubs his stomach. He's wearing an expensive-looking black pea coat that does not go with that hat of his at all.

We grow quiet and I watch the passersby for a bit and he's sneaky-staring again.

"You're staring."

Groaning, he sits up with his elbows on his knees and covers his face with his hands. "I know. I am. I'm rudely staring at you and I'm sorry, it's just that I find you to be so... so... _unexpected._"

I don't know what to say so my eyes follow a skateboarder who noisily skates by. Everything is wet and dirty from the melted snow from this morning and he's wearing tan-colored skinny pants. But he's obviously taken a tumble because he has a muddy behind. He hits a crack in the sidewalk and loses his balance but recovers just in time.

"I'll try to keep my eyes to myself," Edward murmurs. "And I've not done a very good job at keeping my promise but I'm going to start now. If you want to talk, you can talk. Otherwise, we'll just sit here quietly and I'll enjoy your company."

I stare up at the puffs of cottony white moving languidly across the blue canvas of the sky. There's a fingernail of a moon suspended off in the distance.

And I decide to do what I'm comfortable with. Staying silent. Only I'm going to enjoy _Edward's_ company.

Not the other way around.


	11. Chapter 11

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 11**_

Pins and needles shoot down my legs from sitting stick-straight on the wooden seat and I'm on round three of cracking my knuckles that don't need cracking. I need to check the time on my phone which is in my bag but I'm too out of sorts. I took an extended lunch - forgoing my afternoon break - so hopefully I'm okay on time.

I'm trying my best to enjoy Edward's company, but I can't. Some kind of uncomfortable fogginess has settled between us.

His head is turned away from me in the opposite direction and I'm certain it's because I called him out on the staring. No matter how, I'm extremely thankful that his attention is now elsewhere.

I'm still observing him, only from the corner of my eye. He's put more space between us and he's rooted in his spot unmoving.

We've now become two strangers sharing a bench.

Men in long, pricey trench coats, perfect hair, and shiny leather shoes approach. They pass and a man with a thin, tattered, dirty jacket and threadbare tennis shoes follows behind them. I pause at the dichotomy of the situation and reflect on how truly unfair life is.

A young couple catches my attention. With their gloved hands swinging widely between them, the guy leans towards the girl and whispers something in her ear. She throws her head back, laughing, before he tugs her to the side and presses her body up against the brick wall of the building next to us, kissing her passionately.

I shrink away as reality slams into me head-on.

I can't do that. I'm completely incapable of having a relationship like that, any relationship for that matter so why am I here?

My aloneness drew me here.

This eager person who showed up is not the real me. How much does Edward really know about me anyway? That my name is Bella? That I work in a bank? That I ride on a bus?

I'm like an egg. I've been cracked open and my insides dumped out and now all that's left is a fragile, broken shell that can crack and continue cracking at the slightest contact.

I've been riding on the wings of a paper airplane. It soars at first, the wind lifting it higher and higher but its destiny is inevitable.

I have three words I need to say to Edward. I've never said them before because I've purposely avoided them.

Words hold power. It's hard to believe they're formed simply by pushing air from our lungs through our vocal folds. They're just noise, but noise that can be deadly. They can slay a person. They can savagely rip flesh from bone, leaving blood dripping in the aftermath.

I have to say those three words. Clenching my hands tightly, I prepare for the onslaught of pain. I mouth the words before I speak them.

"I'm a... widow."

My voice cracks and I prepare for impact. I flinch when It arrives. A prick, a puncture, a circular saw cutting through my ribs and deeper.

Edward's head pivots in my direction and I hear his sharp intake of air. "I'm so sor - " he starts to say before I hold up my hand.

"I don't want sympathy. I hate it. So please don't feel sorry for me."

_"Of course, of course,"_ he mumbles as he scoots closer, eyes seeking and so troubled.

"I've never recovered and I never will. I have nothing left," I say before I glance at him. His expression shreds me. "I have nothing to give you. You seem like a wonderful person and you've brought light into my dark world and I can't thank you enough for that."

Standing, I start to fold the blanket but he's immediately on his feet and pulls it from me tossing it on the bench.

"Bella, please stop. Don't go yet. Let's talk this out."

"There's nothing to talk about," I say my voice raising an octave. "I have problems, Edward. Deeply rooted problems that I'll never be able to overcome. I told you before that I can't do this and I meant that yet you keep trying to pull me back in. And this 'flirtation' or whatever you want to call it, it made me... it made me forget who I am for a moment. I'm sorry I led you on. I thought that... " I say before I shake my head. "Anyway, thank you for the flower and for lunch. Your kindness means more to me than you can ever imagine."

"Bella, I - "

"Please don't," I say. "You have to let me go. This has to stop here." I feel my face crumpling.

I don't give him a chance to respond because I can't bear to see his reaction.

My path back to the bank is a slow one. I make my way to the restroom and remove my hat, fiddling with my bangs, making sure they're in the right place. Leaning heavily against the counter, I study my stark-white face. Purplish half-moons hang under my eyes - a constant reminder of the night terrors that haunt me - and my eyes look nearly black like a dirty chunk of coal dug from a mine. They look nothing like how dad used to describe them as his favorite "chocolate fudge brownies."

With slow steps, I go back to my station and the first thing I see is the daffodil that still sits on my desk. Taking in a deep breath, I pick it up and gently touch my lips to its soft, yellow petals before placing the vase behind me where I can't see it. Even though it remains hidden, I still see it back there just as if it were sitting before me, a constant reminder of him.

My afternoon goes by slowly and dread weighs heavily in my stomach like an anchor stuck in mud.

I bundle up and with the daffodil in my hand, I clock out for the evening. Instead of merging with the crowd of suits and ties, I make my way towards one of the sitting areas in the lobby. I sit and watch the crowd of people bustle by me as I rub the stem of the flower between my fingertips. I know I'm wimping out. I wait until I have just enough time to get on the bus.

The crowd has thinned out somewhat as I make my way towards the revolving doors. The frigid air hits me and a shiver runs up my spine. Glancing up, I frown at the dark, eerie layer of clouds peering down at me from overhead like an omen. It only took them half-a-work-day to make an appearance.

I merge with the crowd on the sidewalk and make my way towards the bus stop.

My eyes furtively scan the sea of people for the funny hat and my heart jumps when I see him. The pain on his face is a mirror image of the pain I'm feeling inside. He looks like he's been hit in the gut, like he just lost his best friend, like there was a death in his family.

He keeps his distance and I keep my eyes away from him. I stumble onto the bus and raise my elbows in an effort to shield and protect the daffodil from any damage as I make my way towards the back. I clutch onto the railing and keep the flower tucked tightly against my chest. I don't know where Edward is but I feel his gaze like someone tapping me on my shoulder.

"That's a pretty flower," I hear a woman's voice say. The bus takes off and I grasp the pole tighter before glancing down at her. She's sitting in an aisle seat facing me only about a foot away and I'm immediately taken aback by her beauty. She's timeless - a woman who has aged beautifully - and she has an elegance about her. Her shiny auburn hair is coiffed in a style befitting an era long forgotten.

"Thank you," I mumble with no meaning in it. I don't want to be rude to her but I am in no condition to carry on a conversation right now. I turn my body slightly and look back out the window again, hoping she gets my silent message, but for some reason, she doesn't.

"I used to get flowers, too. From a special young man. But they were lilies."

I have no desire to talk and I can't seem to set aside my annoyance. Taking in a deep breath, I quietly blow it out before I glance back down at her again.

"I was in a very bad relationship," she continues. "I ended up in the hospital because of it. I had given up all hope, but that very day, at my lowest point, I met a man. A very special man who showed me there was a way out. He saved me."

I turn towards her, giving her my full attention and feel incredibly guilty that I felt irritated by her. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't feel sorry for me. Had I not gone through that ordeal, I would have never met that special man."

Smiling, she peeps around me and looks back up. "I saw him give you that flower this morning. He's watching you right now."

I swallow hard. "He is?"

She nods. "He looks sad."

My throat tightens. "He does?" I ask, but then my shoulders slump. "I mean… yeah, I know."

"Oh, here's my stop," she says as she rises from her seat. "I'm Esme, by the way."

"I'm Bella."

"Nice to meet you, Bella," she says before she pauses and stares at me for a moment. Her eyes are so soft as if she can see my pain somehow, like she understands me. "Always remember that everyone deserves a second chance. Everyone."

She moves past and I'm left with the strangest feeling. She obviously made an incorrect assumption that Edward had done something wrong and that I should give _him_ another chance, but what keeps going through my mind, what keeps nagging at my conscience and stringing along this peculiar sensation is could she have been talking about _me_? That _I'm_ the one who deserves a second chance?

His stop approaches. The bus slows and my heart beats crazily. With my eyes fixated on the daffodil in my hand, I listen intently, my ears straining for every sound. The brakes squawk loudly. The bus doors creak open. I hear the scuffling of boots against a hard surface. A pause. Then the bus doors close. I feel the driver hit the accelerator and we slowly pull away.

I don't look, but I picture him standing there, staring at the retreating bus with a forlorn look on his face. The thought causes a tightness in the center of my chest. I slump down into the nearest seat and the stress of the day causes a few tears to escape.

My stop arrives and with my head down, I slowly make my way off the bus. I'm greeted with dark, gloomy skies and an arctic blast of wind. Shivering, I pull my scarf up over my face and do my best to protect the daffodil. I let myself into my apartment and Oliver meows loudly as he maneuvers his furry body between my legs.

After opening him a can of cat food, I place the daffodil in a vase. I set it in the center of the kitchen table and sit down and stare at it.

I have no appetite and time slips away. I don't know how long I sit there before I finally pick up the vase and walk into the living room. I set the daffodil on the coffee table adjusting it to make sure it sits just so before turning my attention to the trunk that sits by the door. A wave of nausea and sickening dread hits me when I think about the contents of that trunk. I've never been able to open it. I planned on _never _opening it.

I take a hot shower and feel exhaustion start to creep into my bones. With the lights on as usual, I make my bed on the couch and pull the covers up, but when I close my eyes, I see Edward's face. I see him smiling, holding that frayed book, and I hear him, his rich, seamless voice, reading me that poem.

And I see it, in my mind's eye, an endless field of yellow daffodils swaying gently in the breeze with the warm sun beating down on them.

And I start to weep.

I let it pour out of me in torrents.


	12. Chapter 12

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 12**_

As usual, I can't sleep. I end up in my comfy chair not even bothering to try, but at least I have Oliver. He remains my constant companion and gives me love in my loveless existence.

With his warm fluffy body curled up in my lap, I rub his ears and scratch the little orange and black spots on top of his head as his eyes turn into pleasured slits and his small paws rhythmically knead my thigh. I stroke his short hair as he nods off.

I pick up a novel, but I'm too distracted. I turn on some music, but find it to be either too somber or too enlivened. I finally bundle up and with my gun in my pocket, I sit out on the steps for a short while and let the blusterous, bitter weather rush around me, reddening my nose and frosting my extremities.

I live in an apartment on a busy two-way street. The apartments look like row houses and are one level with crumbly brick façades. This time of night, traffic is much lighter but there are still enough vehicles passing to keep my attention. A scooter buzzes, putters, sputters past and the male driver has on a full-length fur coat and a racoon hat.

And the hat reminds me of _his_ hat.

A man across the street stumbles out of his apartment shouting obscenities at someone and that's my que to duck back inside.

And no matter what I do or how hard I try I can't stop thinking of Edward.

I warm myself in front of the space heater and drink a cup of hot tea. As I sit there staring at the daffodil and thinking of the man who gave it to me, something comes to mind. Reaching for my laptop, I Google William Wordsworth. I read his biography and I begin to study, digest, and absorb his poetic work. I lose myself for a while and find it such a relief to finally be able to keep my mind occupied with something other than that tall man on the bus.

Yawning, I stretch and check the clock. Morning is near but just the thought of having to face Edward again makes my stomach lurch. I can't do it. I can't see him right now. I can't see his crushed expression again knowing I caused it. I wish I had more fortitude. I wish I had more strength of character, but I don't. I'm weak and lack courage so I decide to call into work. Since today is Friday, that will give me three days to do some thinking and I'll be better prepared to face him on Monday. Plus, this will give me an opportunity to go see Dad an extra day this week.

I always bake something for him so I decide on banana bread. I need to start it, but I yawn again and my eyelids start to droop. Curling up in the chair with my blanket and Oliver, I doze off but awaken with a start several hours later, gasping for air. I focus intently on the daffodil sitting on my coffee table and I'm able to manage this attack better than usual and I calm down rather quickly.

After baking the bread, I take a shower and check the bus route since I don't normally visit Dad on a Friday. I need to leave soon so I pull the curtain back to check the weather. I'm pleased to find a beautiful, sunny morning.

I don my hat, scarf, and gloves and grab my bag. The brisk wind hits my cheeks and I stop for a moment and stare up at the blue sky. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head skywards wishing I could jettison through the vivid blue to the moon, between the stars, past the sun to somewhere far, far away. To somewhere where life could begin anew. To somewhere where I could be reborn.

But gravity yanks hard on my boots squashing the idea.

With a heavy, dismal sigh, I walk in the opposite direction that I normally go in the mornings because I have to catch a different bus. As I stand there and wait, I think of Edward for the fiftieth time. I picture him standing at his stop earlier, wearing that funny hat. I see his eyes searching for me and I have to grasp at my chest because I know he felt disappointment and rejection when he saw I wasn't there. The pain intensifies when I think of the look he must have had on his face.

The bus arrives and I'm queasy, but I sit down and make myself focus on the scenery and the clear skies, and before long, I'm dropped off at the nursing home.

I step through the doors and approach the desk. "Hey, Bella," Vicki says, grinning. Vicki has shoulder-length, scarlet-colored hair and dozens of freckles flung across her nose and cheeks. She has a gap in her front teeth so wide she could probably push a pencil through it and her lips are painted a bright red that doesn't quite match her hair. "What are you doing here on a Friday?"

"I took today off," I say as I sign in.

"I wish I could take a day off," she huffs. "Between this job and my part-timing it over at Jefferson Hospital, I don't have time to fart."

I push up the clip on the clipboard and align the paper neatly before I slide it back into its spot.

"How are your boys?" I ask.

"Heathens, just like their daddy," she says with a cackle. "I've got another court date. I'm gonna get money out of that bastard if it's the last thing I do."

She takes a sip of something from a McDonald's cup and the straw has red lip prints on it.

"They're turning four and six next month. I told you they're two years and three days apart, didn't I?"

Yes, she's told me. I know a lot about Vicki. I literally spend maybe five to ten minutes with her each time I visit Dad and I'm amazed at how much information she can pack in in such a short amount of time.

She knows I'm Charlie's daughter. And nothing more.

"How's Dad?" I ask, finally getting in a word.

"I don't know. Maggie's working today."

I take in a deep breath and nod. "I brought some banana bread. I'll make sure to save you some."

"Oh, you just made my day, girl."

My mouth upturns slightly before I begin the walk down the long hallway to Dad's room. My footfalls echo loudly and every time, I feel like I'm walking down the corridor of a prison to Dad's jail cell.

I peer through his open door and see him sitting up in his bed looking out the window.

"Hey, Dad. It's me, Bella," I announce cheerfully.

He turns his head slowly towards me and my heart sinks when I see that vacant look in his eyes.

Hiding my pain and disappointment, I busy myself with removing my coat and gloves. I pull out the banana bread and set it on a small round table with a pretty lace tablecloth that I purchased for him. Stepping over to the corner next to the window, I inspect his money tree. It's an indoor plant about my height that has a braided trunk and bright-green, palm-like leaves.

"Dad, your money tree is looking beautiful," I say forcing my voice to be light and upbeat. "One of these days, it's going to sprout some dollar bills and I'm going to buy you an ice cream."

He doesn't respond and a myriad of emotions get stuck in my throat and I slip into avoidance mode. I open the drawers of his dresser and do my weekly unnecessary inventory and fold everything into tidy stacks. I open his closet and organize his hanging clothes by color.

His room is spacious. The walls are a light tan and the wall behind his bed is a pale green. I have several collage frames hanging about with pictures of him and me.

But no art. Definitely no art.

The staff were kind and let me bring in his favorite nearly-ratty lazy boy recliner which sits in the corner and there's a newer one on the opposite side of the room. There are also two straight-back chairs for guests.

Dad used to get guests. One of his buddies from the police station used to come around, and Dad has two brothers that live a thousand miles away. I get a call from them every holiday.

Life gets in the way. And people get forgotten.

I dust the tchotchke's I have sitting about. I have a framed picture of him and me on his bedside table, dresser, and even one in the bathroom and I've placed an item that I made him in grade school next to it hoping it might jog a memory.

His police badge and Medal of Valor for rescuing two children from a burning house are displayed on his dresser.

He also had so many things that he'd either collected or was given to him over the years and I had to pick just a few: his favorite coffee mug - even though he doesn't drink coffee anymore, a personalized whiskey decanter with a police badge on it, and a police officer bobble head that always made him snort. Those items sit on a small shelf on the wall.

I've been very selective because I don't want to clutter his space and inadvertently clutter his mind.

Once his room is in order, I turn my attention back to him. "Dad, I need you to come over to the recliner," I say. Staying as far away from the bed as I possibly can, I stretch out my hand to help him up. Once I get him settled, I pull up one of the chairs next to him keeping it close to the wall. Reaching for his hand, I place it between both of mine, and rub it gently before I look up into his eyes.

I know that look - my heart knows it so well - but I always have hope. Even when I'm at my lowest, I'll never lose hope. "Dad?" I whisper. "It's me. It's Bella. Are you there? Please be there."

His mustache twitches and I see a spark of recognition fire in his eyes. They used to be a deep brown but have now lightened to more of a hazel color. "Renee?" he asks in a surprised voice and I cringe at her spoken name.

My lip quivers. I so needed him today. If only for a moment…

"Renee? Is that you?" he asks as he reaches out his free hand and touches my cheek. I try hard not to recoil but the mention of her always brings it out in me.

His upper lip hides beneath a zebra-colored mustache that dips down at the corners but it stretches and lifts and I see the faint flash of teeth.

I take any and all smiles even if they're not intended for me. I squeeze his hands, rubbing my thumbs over his thin, wrinkly skin. His eyebrows started a growth spurt a few years ago and they're wild and nearly as thick and bushy as his mustache. The lines in his cheeks and around his eyes in his once ruggedly-handsome face show so much: laughter he shared with close friends at a cook-out, tears he brushed away at my kindergarten graduation, beaming smiles at my joyous squeals on Christmas morning.

His forehead, on the other hand, tells of worries, heartache, and the rigors of being a cop.

I take his hand in mine and tenderly kiss his palm. "Yes, Charlie. It's me," I croak with bile boiling deep in my belly.

"Do you remember that time we took that trip to Washington?"

His question rips me apart every time. I want to shout, "_Daddy, it's Bella. It's your daughter. Please, please remember me, Daddy. Remember me just one more time..." _

But I know it won't make any difference.

He then proceeds to tell me the story that he has repeated to me over and over again. The story I know by heart.

His smile starts to fade. I watch his eyes as the light dissipates, gradually, and he gently slips away. He turns his head and stares back out the window.

I've lost him again. Just like every other visit, I'm left alone.


	13. Chapter 13

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 13**_

I brush Dad's soft hair and rub some lotion into his dry, chapped hands, but I do it silently. I normally always talk to him during my visits. I fill the air with my words, even when he shuts down and can't communicate. I think it's important that he hears a familiar voice because that might be the very thing that unlocks some of his hidden memories. I usually chat about my job, the weather, a book I'm reading. My life is small and mundane so I've never had anything of great significance to talk about.

Until today.

I met Edward this week. And because of my encounter with him, my life feels different somehow. Like I now have a story to tell. Like my life has grown bigger and has more meaning and importance because of him. I _want_ to tell Dad about him. I want to tell Dad about the funny hat and his warm smiles. I want to talk about green eyes and those delicious cheese fries we shared. I want to talk about lovely poems and fields of daffodils, but most of all, I want to tell Dad about this dull ache I feel in the center of my chest whenever I think of him.

But I remain quiet. I have so many things weighing heavily on my mind, and I'm still struggling with what happened yesterday. I keep telling myself that I did the right thing. That by stopping this "whatever it is" with Edward before it could even get started was exactly what I should have done. But my heart keeps telling me something else.

I cut Dad a piece of banana bread and I'm feeding him bites of it when Maggie walks into the room. She's the reason why I chose this particular home for Dad. She's a few inches shy of five foot, chubby, and has a loud voice and cheerful disposition. She exudes motherliness and has five children of her own and one grandchild.

Her black uniform has blue and purple cartoon owls on it and her earrings are small silver owls. Her hair is short and has blond highlights in it.

"Bella!" she exclaims happily. "Vicki told me you played hooky today."

"Hi, Maggie." Just her greeting comforts me.

"How are you, darling girl?" she asks as she gives me a hug so tight that she squeezes a noise out of me. I love her hugs more than anything.

"I'm good."

"Have you had a good week?" she asks before she raises one suspicious eyebrow.

I nod my response but she holds me at arm's length and gives me a disapproving frown. "You look exhausted. Are you still not sleeping?"

"Not really."

"And did you take that over-the-counter sleep aid I gave you?"

"Uh, not yet."

"Take the medicine, you silly girl," she says, shaking me affectionately. "Not getting enough sleep can affect your immune system and I know you don't want to get sick. It's cold and flu season. Make sure to take some Echinacea as well. That'll help fight off any infections."

She likes to mother and I welcome it.

She walks over and touches Dad on the shoulder. "So, Charlie Swan, how's that banana bread?" she asks him with a big grin. "It looks mighty tasty. Your daughter Bella's a fantastic cook, isn't she?"

Dad picks up a bite from his tray and misses his mouth. He looks up at her with that blank expression, but it doesn't deter Maggie. "Here you go, Charlie," she says as she helps him find his mouth. "I miss my mouth all the time too which is completely shocking considering how big my mouth actually is."

Laughing, she turns back to me, her shiny, moon-shaped face lit up. "He loves everything you make but I think your banana bread is his most favorite," she says with a wink.

She always knows how to lift my spirits. "Would you like a piece?" I ask even though I know her answer.

"Of course, and make it a big one. I started a diet yesterday and it's lasted 24 hours so I think it's time for a reward," she says with an impish grin.

It pleases me that she enjoys my baking and I cut her an extra-large slice.

"So, how's Mr. Oliver?" she asks before she digs in. I keep three photo albums in Dad's room and one of them is dedicated to Oliver. I have pictures of him from when he was a kitten to now and I love sharing them with Dad. I tell him stories of how I found Oliver in the trash bin I set out every Thursday for the trash collector. Someone had opened the lid and dumped him in it. That's why Oliver is so special to me. He was unwanted, a castaway. He was dumped as waste and became my dearest.

I have an album with everything Dad. His walk of life. The telling of a journey of how he lived. Each choice, each step guiding him along his way. There's a black and white photo of a dapper Grandpa in a suit and Grandma in a lovely dress partially covered with a coat. Dad and his two brothers are in little wool coats with four black buttons on the front in the shape of a square. They're all standing in front of a Chevy with their modest house in the background.

The realization of the American Dream.

There's another picture of a vacation. A day at the beach with the boys building a sand castle and one with Dad playing football with the crowd behind him cheering him on.

And the last album is me and... _her._ I deliberated for a long time about editing her out of all of the photos but I decided against it. That would be unfair to Dad especially since he sees her in me all the time and he spent almost two decades with her. But I kept the pictures to a minimum.

Maggie has sat with me before during my album time with Dad but I've always switched to Oliver's whenever she's around. And she understands. The other ones are private. Just for me and Dad. She's the only nurse that has ever done that. Everyone else does their job caring for Dad but Maggie always takes that extra step.

"Oliver's great," I respond.

"He looks like a cuddle bug," she says still chewing. She swallows quickly and starts talking again. "You should see our house. I've gone through three couches with George the Mastiff slobbering everywhere. The kids adore him so I'm stuck. I keep hoping one of these days he'll jump the fence and flee but he's too dang fat."

She suddenly drops her banana bread and digs around for her phone. "Oh my goodness, little Sasha just started dance classes," she says as she pulls up a picture of her granddaughter. "Isn't she the most beautiful thing God ever created?"

I agree with her. Sasha is adorable.

Maggie loves to talk and I get swept up in her conversation and momentarily forget my troubles. I value her friendship dearly. Even if it's just a handful of conversations once or twice a week.

But there's always a trail of painful longing that follows each of her words.

I grieve for things I could have had but never will.

"Charlie Swan, I'll see you soon," she says as we both stand. "I'm going to talk to your daughter Bella for a bit."

I love how she says our names each time reiterating our relationship to each other.

Once we're out in the hallway, I feel comfortable talking about him. "Irina told me that he's been pacing," I say.

"Yes, and he's also been quite the rascal," she says. "Yesterday, he marched up and down the hallway demanding his gun."

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. He was very feisty and kept Laurent quite busy," she says, chuckling.

"I'm sorry. I don't want him causing problems."

"Don't you dare apologize for him. Besides, Laurent's usually sitting in his chair dozing off so it was nice to see him actually earn a paycheck for once."

She keeps it light and I know she's doing it for my benefit, but it still bothers me. I don't want Dad to be a burden on anyone and I know he can be difficult at times.

"He's fine, honey, and I mean that," she says as she pulls me into another beloved hug. "Don't you worry. We'll take good care of him but you need to start taking good care of _you_."

"I'm trying."

She gives me a look. She knows I'm fibbing.

"So, are you still coming by tomorrow or are you going to skip since you came today?" she asks.

"No, I'll be here tomorrow too."

"Good. I'm on shift tomorrow so I'll see you then, sweetheart," she says. "And take that medicine tonight. You have to get some sleep, young lady. It's not healthy."

She leaves in a flurry mumbling goodbyes and waves as she moves along, filling the hallway with her presence. I try to engage Dad again, but he's still off somewhere. I always wonder where he is. Is he in one of those pictures? Maybe riding on Grandpa's shoulders terrified yet elated with snatches of Grandpa's hair in his grip? Roughhousing with his brothers and getting grass stains on his clothes? Dancing nervously to Etta James with his prom date?

To chase away my gray thoughts, I remove his tray and clean any bits off of him. I decide to share some of William Wordsworth's poetry with him because I can't do album time today. I pull it up on my phone but I make sure to exclude the daffodil poem. That one has too much meaning to me. I read for half an hour or so until my voice gets raspy and I start to get sleepy. I'm leaning heavily against the wall when I wake up with a start and hear something fall on the floor. Disoriented, I glance around and realize I dozed off. I pick up my phone that fell and check the time and it's after 2:00 p.m. I'm shocked to see that I slept for three hours.

Dad has disappeared so I jump up and search the hallways. I pass the community room and breathe a sigh of relief. Dad's sitting at a table with two others watching them work a puzzle.

After kissing his cheek, I tell him I'll see him tomorrow. "I'll see you soon," he says with a big grin. Momentary joy floods my soul and I hug him so tight and I don't want to let go.

And for the first time in the longest while, I feel refreshed, my nap and Dad's grin uplifting my spirit.

As I walk to the bus stop, I think of Edward. I wonder what he's doing right now. Is he in class or at the bookstore? It's too early for him to be at the bus stop yet.

My bus arrives and drops me off at the stop near my home, but I decide to first get a few groceries at the small store a few blocks from my apartment. I walk the aisles grabbing just a few things because I paid some bills and funds are low in my account. I get a couple dozen eggs because they can be breakfast or dinner, some bananas and veggies, a loaf of bread and turkey for lunches, and some soup that's on sale.

The temperature has dropped and my grocery bag is quite heavy so I walk quickly. I'm almost home when I glance up and stop short. Someone is sitting on my steps, hunched over, holding a spray of daffodils in his hand. He slowly raises his head and his tired, worried eyes find mine.

Fear prickles my skin as my heart leaps in my chest.

How in the world could Edward possibly know where I live?


	14. Chapter 14

_**TO THE LIGHT **_

_**CHAPTER 14 **_

Edward stands. I watch as he approaches me but I don't understand the look on his face. My grip on the groceries loosens as hundreds of black crows appear out of thin air and descend upon me, their black wings swooshing, flapping one on top of the other pressing me down, stealing my vision, my breath, smothering me, as a fierce choking sensation encircles my throat and my heart pounds so fast, way too fast, and I can't get enough air into my lungs and I'm suffocating. Blood rushes through my ears, pulsating, as I desperately fight for my next breath. Over and over, I fight so hard to get air into my lungs and with each exhale, I'm terrified that I won't get the next inhale. I hear someone's voice, a murmuring perhaps, but it sounds far away, muffled.

"_Bella? Oh my god, Bella, j__e suis tellement, tellement désolé. Qu'est-ce que j'ai fait. _Listen to my voice, Bella. I want you to picture that field of daffodils in your mind. Picture the sun shining down on you and try to feel the warm, summer breeze on your face. Can you see the wind blowing the daffodils? Can you see them swaying gently in the breeze?"

_Edward._

I visualize every word he has spoken and I finally catch my breath but I'm twirling and twirling and swaying and I'm going to fall over and I thought there were crows but I don't see any and Edward quickly wraps his arm around me. "_M__a douce, douce fille._ Are you dizzy? Do you feel light-headed?" he asks anxiously.

I want to nod but I can't and why is he calling me "_his sweet, sweet girl?"_

"I'm going to help you over to the steps but be very careful. You need to sit down. I've got you, okay?" He helps get me seated before he kneels in front of me.

My head spins as I loosen my scarf because I feel hot and sweaty despite the freezing temperature. I sit there for a few moments heaving air and trying to recover and trying to ignore Edward but I have to look at him at some point so I open my eyes. Distress scars his face, and he looks like how I feel like the air just got knocked out of him. "Are you okay?" he asks softly. "Are you ill? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

I wipe my face with my scarf and shake my head.

"Are you sure? I'm seriously freaking out right now. Did I frighten you?" he asks, his expression so worrisome. He waits for my response, but I don't answer. His body sags. "I can't believe this. Bella, please accept my apology. I would never, ever want to scare you or hurt you in any way."

I roughly clear my throat. "How did you... how do you know where I live?" I ask with a thick, scratchy voice.

Sighing heavily, he sits down beside me and drops his head in his hands. "Dear god, I should have listened to Sue," he groans. "I knew I shouldn't have come here. I knew I shouldn't have done it this way. I'm screwing everything up!"

"Screwing what up?"

His head remains buried in his hands. "Never mind," he mumbles.

"Did you follow me?"

His weary eyes find mine. "Yes, but I only did it with the purest of intentions."

"You followed me? When?"

"A couple weeks ago and I only did it one time."

My eyes widen. "Are you stalking me?"

"No, no, of course not. It's nothing like that whatsoever. I just… it's just a long story and one that I'm worried you won't even believe. I shouldn't even tell you about it but I feel like I _have_ to tell you and I know I'm going to make everything a worse mess than it already is and..._ ten years. It's been ten years,"_ he moans. He starts mumbling incoherently before scrubbing his hands over his face.

"I've been so torn," he continues. "I've practically made myself sick over this. I know you've been through so much in your life and that you're... broken... but I'm broken too but in a different way and I was just so terrified that I lost you and I know you told me to quit pursing you and I obviously _can't_ quit pursuing you and I wanted to see if we could maybe start over. If you could somehow, someway give me a second chance. I'll try to fix this and - "

"Wait. What did you just say?" I ask as I hear Esme's words ring through my ears. His plea for a "second chance" leaves me with the oddest sensation almost like a déjà vu feeling.

"That maybe you could give me a second chance?" he asks with a frown and I just sit there staring blankly at him.

"Is there any way that we could go somewhere and talk?" he pleads. "Maybe tomorrow when you're feeling better? I have things I'd like to tell you if you'll let me."

Reaching my hand into my pocket, I pull out my key with a shaky hand. My thoughts rapidly race, chasing one after another so much so that my brain hurts. I don't even know what to think of him being here right now. I still can't believe he actually followed me and that fact alone sends warning signs shooting through my veins. Maybe I've misjudged him. Maybe I _should _be fearful. I thought he was different but he _is_ simply a stranger I met on a bus.

"I think you should leave now," I say followed with more throat clearing. I just want him to go away so I can think this through.

With a heavy sigh, he stands and picks up my groceries and the spray of daffodils. My legs are so wobbly I have to lean heavily on the railing so I don't topple over. I try to unlock the door but my hands tremble so it takes me three tries. I finally get the door open and turn back towards him.

He hands me the groceries and flowers. The wounded expression on his face puts an ugly taste in my mouth. "I understand and respect your wishes, but if you don't mind, I'm just going to sit out here for a little while longer," he says. "I'm sorry that I came here and I promise I won't be of any bother to you."

I do mind and I don't like the thought of him sitting out in the cold, but I can't bear to look at that expression any longer so I close the door and lock it securely behind me. I drop the groceries and flowers and sink down into the chair like a limp rag, completely worn out. I feel sweaty, though, so I strip off my coat and flop back down again.

My eyes stay fixated on the door. I can't even comprehend that Edward is right now at this very moment sitting on the other side of it. I try to think back to when he could have followed me. I remember for certain the first day he rode the bus. I noticed him right away wearing that funny hat and that was not two weeks ago. I'm the first stop in the mornings and the last stop in the evenings and I've seen him get off at his stop every single time. There is no way he could know my stop so how and when could he have followed me? And _why_ would he have done it in the first place? I'm a nobody and certainly nothing to look at.

_Maybe he's another Ted Bundy..._

I definitely consider it but I know deep down that he's not.

I hear some rustling and discover that Oliver has his head buried in my bag of groceries. I shoo him away and drop heavily back down in my chair. My muscles feel like they've been stretched and they're now flappy rubber bands, refusing to go back under my skin.

I just lay there, unmoving and try to let my body recover.

And I stare at the door.

The wind howls and rattles the awning outside my window and I know what that means. It's freezing out there and I wonder how long he sat out there before I even showed up. It could have been hours. And what could he possibly have to tell me?

Oliver won't stop messing with my grocery bag and he now has his head in the daffodils. Gathering some strength, I manage to slowly stand but I have to take a moment to get my bearings with my woozy head spinning around.

I stumble to the bathroom and run a cold washrag over my face. I sit back down to rest some more before I finally put away my groceries, feed Oliver, and place the daffodils in a vase.

All at a weakened, turtle pace.

Surely, he's gone by now, I think to myself. Stepping over to the window, I peep out. Darkness has fallen, but I see Edward's figure still huddled on my steps in the glow of the porchlight. Heaving a sigh, I put on my hat, gloves, and scarf before I grab my bag. I unlock and slowly open the door.

He quickly stands to his feet and turns towards me, his face frowned and pinched.

"There's a coffee shop around the corner," I mumble, my voice raspy and my throat tight.

He stares at me for a heartbeat longer before his face loosens, the tenseness lessening and his lips move.

I see a smile.

It's a small one but one that I've never seen before.

It's a smile full of hope and second chances.

And I just pray that I'm making the right decision.

* * *

_J__e suis tellement, tellement désolé. Qu'est-ce que j'ai fait._

I'm so, so sorry. What have I done?


	15. Chapter 15

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 15**_

"Are you sure you're okay to walk?" Edward asks. I hum, but I am not okay to walk, and I try to hide the fact that my limbs are mush.

We walk quietly, and even though I don't look to the side, I'm very aware he's beside me. The wind - biting and almost painful – cuts into me and I'm glad we don't have far to go. The coffee shop is less than a block away.

We arrive, and he leads me to a table and offers to help me with my coat, but I decline because I might need to make a speedy exit.

I slip off my gloves and scarf, leaving my hat in place before I sit. He removes his hat and coat before ruffling a hand through his hair.

"What would you like?"

"A black coffee is fine," I say but I know I won't drink it.

Nodding, he gets in line. I have a perfect side-view of him, and I try to keep my gaze on my fidgeting, clasped hands but I can't. My eyes drag to him of their own accord. I'm curious, yet apprehensive, and now that I think about it, I've never really seen him out of his hat and coat other than that brief moment in his bookstore. And my only other observations have been quick glances or furtive peeks through the corners of my eyes.

He stands a head taller than those nearby and I've always admired tall men, maybe because of my own small stature. His hair looks wild like he just got back from swinging tree-to-tree in the jungle and it's a colorful mix of tree bark and almonds. A white, V-neck peeps out beneath a forest green and cream-colored flannel shirt, which is buttoned half-way up. His jeans are faded and slightly baggy. Brown, roughed-up boots that have scuff marks all over them adorn his feet, and they look like he's worn them every day of his adult life.

I love them. I wonder about all of the places they've taken him, all of the miles he's walked in them, all of the things he's seen. I'm sure those boots have many stories to tell.

He picks up our coffees, and I quickly stare down at the table, not wanting to get caught ogling him.

"Here you go," he says, setting my coffee in front of me.

"Thanks," I say quietly as he drags the chair out and sits across from me. I reach for the cup and set it so it's centered in front of me before I drop my hands to my lap. I pick furiously at my thumb, trying to create a new hangnail.

"I want to apologize again for what happened earlier. I can't imagine what went through your mind when you saw me sitting on your steps. You probably thought I was a serial killer or something," he says with a long groan. "I don't know what I was thinking. Well, I do know what I was thinking, but anyway, I feel terrible that I scared you and -"

"It's okay."

"Was that ... did you have a ... a panic attack?"

I nod, and he makes a garbled sound. "I hate myself for causing that. I'm an idiot."

"They happen all the time."

"But_ I_ was the cause of that one."

Sorrowful and regretful eyes stare back at me. I look away, and my hands beneath the table won't stop fiddling. I start pulling on the strings that hang from my scarf and wrap them around my fingers.

"Thank you for coming here. You're incredibly brave."

I'm startled by his statement because bravery would be the last word I would use to describe myself.

"No, I'm not."

"Well, I think you are."

"Well, I'm not."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry..." he says as he holds up his hands with a repentant, almost fractured look on his face.

"I didn't mean to be so ..." I say, trailing off.

"No, it's not you, it's just that I've been trying so hard to do this right, but for some reason, I can't win for losing," he mumbles as he closes his eyes and scrubs them with his fists.

Shifting in his seat, he rests his elbows on the table and covers his face with his hands before murmuring, "Qu'est ce qui ne vas pas chez toi? Tu vas la faire fuir peut-être pour toujours," to himself.

He can't possibly know that I speak French and I don't understand why he's scolding himself and saying he's going to scare me away. What the heck is he going to tell me?

My hands are in fists and my fingernails dig into my palms. I'm feeling edgy, and I start contemplating my exit strategy.

"What a mess," he blurts with frustration as he looks up at me. "I can't believe this. Sue is going to kill me for not listening to her..."

He blows out a big breath. "You know what? I'm just going to do it," he mutters with resolve as he sits up straighter. "I'm in deep already so why not dig another six feet? I know I'm probably doing the wrong thing here, but this is killing me, and God help me I literally can't hold it in any longer, but I'm really concerned about how you're going to take this information. You might call the cops on me or think I have some screws missing, but I'm going to be truthful with you. I can't keep all of this bottled up inside of me anymore. I'm done. Just please keep an open mind."

I frown. "I don't understand."

"I know, but just please be open to what I'm about to tell you."

"I'll try..."

He stares at his coffee for a long moment as if gathering his thoughts before he pulls in a big breath. "I'm so nervous. I don't even know where to start," he says with another big sigh. "I know we just met and you barely know me, and you probably think I'm crazy, but I just... Okay. I guess I need to start at the beginning with my mom. This all centers around her and I don't mean to be insensitive to your situation but..." he says with a pause as he leans towards me. "She was a ... widow."

I flinch.

"I'm sorry, so sorry..."

Shutting my eyes, I hold up my hand. "Stop."

He stays silent.

I open my eyes. "It's okay. I just ... I hate that word."

"I understand completely. If I say anything more that is upsetting to you, please stop me, okay?"

I nod.

"Okay," he says again as he shifts in his seat and tugs on the V-neck of his white T like it's too tight, although it's already loose and misshapen. "My mom's name was Elizabeth. Everyone called her Lizzy. She was what you'd call 'quirky' or 'gifted.' She could 'see' things. Like she'd get these premonitions that would later come true. She said she saw my dad a year before she even met him, and she somehow knew they would only have a limited amount of time together.

"She was out riding her bike one day, wrecked it, and actually fell into a ditch. And guess who rescued her? Edward Masen Sr., my dad-to-be," he says with a sideways grin. I momentarily have a hard time breathing because I've never seen it before. "They fell in love and married six weeks later. She got pregnant with me on their wedding night ..." he says with a long pause. "But he passed away eight months later. He fell on some ice and hit his head. It was just a simple fall, but I guess it was the angle or something. It was a tragic accident. She gave birth to me a month after that."

I inhale sharply.

"Are you okay?"

I nod.

A deep crease sits between his brows. "Are you sure? I'm worried."

"I'm fine."

"I didn't want to hurt you with that part of the story."

"I'm good."

He studies me intently like he's fact-checking my answers before he lets out a relieved sigh. "All right. My mom... well, you have to remember that she was different. She looked at the world through a whole different set of eyes than most. She actually found it to be a gift to know that her time with my dad would be limited. I know I would never see that as a gift," he says with a shake of his head, "but anyway, she told me she made sure to love my dad every single day with everything she had. She felt satisfied that in those short months they had together, she had loved him enough to last a lifetime."

His gaze drops to the tabletop as a smile hovers over his lips. "She believed in love and magic and destiny. She was a complete romantic at heart, and she loved me way too much and spoiled me rotten. She always told me how special I was and that I was the direct result of an intense love."

He stares down at his coffee again, but his smile fades, and his face grows pensive. "When I was eighteen, she got sick. Pancreatic cancer. She only lived two months after her diagnosis."

"Oh no, I'm sorry."

"Are you still okay? Is this too much?"

I shake my head.

"Are you sure? I'm feeling some intense anxiety about your well-being."

"I'm okay."

He studies me again before he finally settles down a bit. "Okay. A week before I lost her, she told me something ... something that changed my life forever." He locks eyes with mine, and the look in his deepens and makes my heart thud. "She told me I would experience an even greater love than theirs. An incredible, powerful love and I would meet a very special woman and I would help heal her scars. Her 'emotional' scars."

I swallow almost painfully and pull in a sluggish, shallow breath.

"I begged her for more details. Like how would I know when I met this special woman? And guess what she told me?"

I shake my head just the slightest as I wait with bated breath.

"She told me I would know the instant I saw her. That I would see a 'visible' scar and it would be like magic ... that there would be no question in my mind whatsoever because my heart would only beat for her."

I'm struggling, practically choking on my breath. "Bella," he whispers, leaning his arms on the table and inching closer to me. "I know you have a scar on your forehead."

I gasp, and my eyes widen…

Because no one on this Earth other than me knows about that scar.


	16. Chapter 16

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 16**_

A noisy percussion drums in my ears as Edward's face blurs and turns fuzzy-snowy like a screen on an old TV with a misaligned antenna.

"Are you still with me, Bella? You look pale. Are you okay? Talk to me."

Blinking rapidly, his words slowly bring my vision back, pixel by pixel.

Nearly quaking, I reach my shivery hand to my forehead. My fingertips explore and right away, I can feel my bangs and knit cap are firmly in place, keeping the scar completely hidden from view.

Stuttered whiffs of air enter my lungs affecting my speech, but I push through. "H…how? That's…it's...that's…impossible…it's..."

"Nothing's impossible, Bella, absolutely nothing."

"But…I...I…"

"Are you feeling all right? I need some reassurance over here," he says as he scoots to the edge of his chair. Leaning across the table, he watches me carefully. "Your breathing is not good and you look ghostly. I'm seriously regretting bringing you here."

I touch my hat and bangs again knowing full well he can't see my scar and that he _couldn't _have before. Every single time I've been around him, I've had my hat on and my bangs in place. I've never left my house without a hat or scarf, even in the summer.

For extra protection, I quickly tug it down until it touches my eyebrows.

"Are you light-headed? Do you want some water or something?"

I sit for a minute or two trying to regulate my breathing and reduce my high-velocity pulse before I finally shake my head.

"You're okay?"

I nod. Kind of. Because I'm not.

He still looks like he doesn't believe me, so I wave a flustered hand and adjust in my seat as I pull the lapels of my coat tighter. Finally, he sits back. "You really had me worried."

"But…but…how could you know?"

"I'll tell you, but I first need to tell you how I got to that point, okay?"

"No, I want to know right now."

His fingertips rub over his curving lips. "I promise to tell you very soon."

My eyes narrow.

His face grows a grin, and he sits there, openly staring at me, his eyes moving all over my face.

"Well?" I ask, prompting him to get on with the story.

"Sorry," he says with a chuckle as he closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I got a little distracted... Um, where should I start?" he mumbles to himself as he scratches his forehead. "Oh yeah. A week after Mom passed, I broke up with my girlfriend. My high school girlfriend. She was a really nice girl, and I broke her heart. It pained me to do that to her, but I believed in my mom's prediction. I never doubted it, not even once. My girlfriend didn't have any scars, let alone that 'mysterious' scar, so I knew she wasn't the one for me."

He lowers his head. "You still good?"

I want him to keep talking so I give him a quick nod.

"Okay. Well, I had plans to go to college. I wanted to study music. My mom had the most beautiful voice, and she introduced me to instruments when I was young. I play the piano, the guitar, and the drums. Do you play anything?"

"Uh…the violin?"

"I can see you doing that…" he says contemplatively as he turns his head to the side, studying me. He stares like he's picturing the instrument tucked under my chin. I glance away and tug on those stupid scarf strings.

"Anyway, I was eighteen and grieving and could have cared less about college, so I didn't go. My grandparents were so angry at me, and we fought a lot, but I had so much of my mom in me. And I needed to start hunting for this girl I was destined to love for eternity."

The sweetest expression crosses his face, and my stomach does a twist.

"I packed a bag, hugged my grandparent's goodbye, and bought a one-way ticket to Paris. I figured it wasn't called the 'City of Love' for nothing."

"You went to Paris? By yourself? When you were eighteen?"

He grins. "I sure did. I had to get away from everything. Have you ever been?"

I shake my head. Going to Paris has been my unfulfilled dream since I was ten-years-old.

"It's incredible. It's a whole different world, a completely different way of looking at life and living."

"It sounds amazing."

He smirks, a real actual smirk. "Maybe you'll end up there someday. Remember, nothing is impossible."

I shrug. I know my reality. I have no money, no passport, and no reason to go now.

"Every day, I stood on the street corner, playing my guitar and singing for tips all the while I secretly searched for this girl with a scar."

"You did?"

"You have to understand that I had a very different upbringing. My mom was a free spirit so I was comfortable with it."

I do not want to ask the question, but I have to know. "Did you...find anyone…with a scar?"

"I did actually, but it took six weeks," he says, and my heart sinks. "She was a magician doing a street performance. She had a scar on the back of her hand. I saw it, and I stood there, watching her act and waited for the magic to happen. I waited and waited and…nothing. I felt absolutely nothing. But I still talked to her afterward. Her name was Jacqueline. She was doing a trick with a knife and cut herself several years prior. She was twenty-nine and married."

"Oh."

"Yeah. I spent three months in Paris, and then I started traveling to other places. Mom had life insurance so I lived off that plus I'd gig and do odd jobs. I went just about everywhere throughout Europe. I missed Mom so much. I was so lonely and absolutely desperate to find this 'special' woman.

"I know you probably don't want to hear this, but I did find other women with scars," he says. The hollow feeling in my stomach feels even hollower. "One gal was named Louise, and she had a scar on her arm. I was renting a flat in Paris, and she had the apartment above me, and for a while, I really thought she was 'the one.' I had such a crush on her, and she felt the same way about me."

His lips twitch, and his eyes crinkle, and a sick feeling curls in my gut.

"Louise was special. She was sixty-eight, smoked cigars, and was terribly handsy."

I bust out laughing, he busts out laughing, and we laugh and laugh and I laugh too much and it reaches my fingers and my toes and loosens the ridged square of my shoulders.

We finally calm down, and he gives his throat a quick clearing. "Seriously, though, there was only one person I tried to have a relationship with. I made it work for a while, but it eventually fell apart because I knew she wasn't what I was looking for.

"I spent five years traveling before I gave up and decided to come back home. By that time, I resented my mother. I hated that she had ruined my life by giving me that stupid prediction. I decided that her illness had affected her mind and that her words were the result of her being 'sick' not 'gifted.' So, I came back here and tried the music thing for a few years. I joined a local band, and we played gigs around town, and I met a woman. A woman without a scar. I decided to put Mom's words behind me once and for all and try to act like a normal man for once.

"I stayed with her for three years, and I tried my best to be 'normal,' but I was far from normal. I'd go do a gig, and the entire time I was scanning the audience for a woman with a scar. Then I would go home to her afterward. It was so unhealthy, and no matter how hard I fought it, I could not stop looking.

"She kept hinting at marriage, so I went out and bought a ring. I decided that if I got married, maybe that would change things. Maybe it would force me into some normalcy. I planned the proposal and asked her to meet me at a restaurant. On my way there, I decided to visit Mom's grave. I hadn't been to her grave in three years.

"As I stood there, looking down at her tombstone with my hand shoved in my pocket and my fist wrapped around that ring box, I started talking. I poured my heart out to her about how she had ruined my life. How she had taken a young boy and messed with his head. I told her I was sick and tired of this constant searching and that I was done with it. I told her that I was now taking charge of my life and that I was going to make my own future. And I ended it with, 'Fuck your prediction.'"

"Oh my god," I mumble.

"As soon as I said those words, I heard an engine revving loudly. I looked up, and a car drove by slowly with an old man behind the wheel. He stared me down with the most hateful look on his face and..." he says with a pause and a bob of his Adam's apple, "he had a deep, jagged scar running from the corner of his eye down to his jaw."

My mouth parts as the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end.

"It scared the heck out of me. I felt like it was a direct message from Mom. She believed in stuff like that, supernatural things. I went to the restaurant and with that ring in my pocket, I broke up with her. I felt awful, and it was a horrible thing to do, but I knew deep down I didn't love her. It wasn't fair to her, not being able to give her my heart, so I moved my stuff out of her house that night.

"I got out of the music business and bought the bookstore. I went back to Mom's grave and apologized. I told her I loved her and I still believed, but I was tired. I couldn't do the searching thing any longer. I told her if her prediction was real and if there truly was an incredible love out there waiting on me somewhere, she'd have to send the woman to me."

I can't breathe, I can't think, I can't move.

"That was two years ago...

"And, Bella…two weeks ago, Mom sent _you_."


	17. Chapter 17

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay, my sweet friends. I have "tinkering" issues with a side of OCD. I also have many other made-up excuses, but anyway, I'm back! ;)

I want to give a few shout-outs. I want to once again thank my dear friend Fran for reading this and for being there for me during the tough times. Sometimes life shoves you outside into a hailstorm butt naked (lol) and she's always been there to toss me some clothes and an umbrella when needed.

I also want to thank the beautiful SunflowerFran (a different Fran) for recently agreeing to beta this story, so hopefully my chapters from now on will be shinier due to her waving her magic wand.

And I want to thank _you_, my dear readers, for giving this story a chance and for leaving your wonderful, encouraging words. I love hearing from you. It means so much to me.

Now, about that scar... ;)

* * *

_**CHAPTER 17**_

"_Excuse me,"_ I mumble as I clumsily get up from my chair and shove it backward. The metal legs let out a chilling '_eerrrrch'_ across the tiled floor, which makes my body convulse, and my skin reacts like someone just scraped it with a Brillo pad.

Edward jumps to his feet as my own tangle, and I quickly grasp the edge of the table with one hand, so I don't fall. I sprint to the restroom, and he shouts my name, but it barely reaches the curve of my ear.

I jiggle the door handle. It gives way, and I quickly turn the lock before slumping heavily against it.

Winded and desperate, I work on capturing short breaths into my shriveled lungs. I breathe _into my nose and out through my mouth, in my nose and out through my mouth_, until my lungs finally allow the transparent, life-sustaining air into my chest.

With my eyes squeezed shut, I slip off my cap and slowly reach my fingertips underneath my bangs. I run the tip of my index finger along the two-inch, horizontal scar on the left side of my forehead that sits near my hairline. I haven't looked at it since it happened. And I have my ways of avoiding it. Washing my hair? I pull my bangs down as soon as I get out of the shower. Haircuts? I trim it myself. And I own hats. Lots of hats.

I pretend it doesn't exist. I have carefully stifled every memory attached to it. They're like snapshots with torn edges that I've dumped into a sewer.

So I can survive.

And some days I don't want to.

Tugging my hat back on, I unbutton my coat because surely the temperature registers ten degrees more in here than out in the coffee shop. The restroom smells like a mixture of urine and a sickeningly sweet air freshener, making me almost gag. I run my hand under the automatic towel dispenser, and it grinds noisily but dispenses nothing. Digging in my bag, I pull out some tissues, wet them, and run them over my heated face.

I have so much information to digest that I don't even know where to begin. Edward's heartfelt revelations - and I truly believe they came straight from his heart - have left me shaken and unnerved, but more than anything, I feel an intense pain; a sadness and genuinely deep sorrow for him because I am not the woman he has been searching for his whole life. And I think it will completely destroy him when he realizes the truth.

His mother wrecked him with her words. And, giving him this prediction a week before she passed, I don't see how she could have been in her right mind especially with her illness. All it did was set him on a path of failure, devastation, and heartbreak. I can't imagine how difficult his life has been the last ten years, desperately chasing a myth, a fantasy, a fairytale. And the almost _supernatural _love that she described to him?

Total fallacy.

I know real love.

It's a simple word...

Love.

Just one syllable.

Yet it holds the strength and power of a thousand avenging angels.

Love slowly crept up on me. It was there all along, the sweetest surprise.

Real love can catapult you to a place purer than heaven, a place rippling with bliss. It can leave you dazed, spiraling. It can turn you inside out and upside down.

It alters you. It changes your DNA. It entwines you with another, twists you, molds you into something new, something more, something better than yourself.

Real love can also be shattering. It's sacrificial. It can sandblast your soul, mangle you, even wring the red from your veins.

I know all too well how problematic, painful, and complex love can really be.

Intuitions, future-telling, magic? None of that exists. We live in a finite world of mathematics and science where we can measure, quantify, and explain practically everything in the universe, although, I can't explain that old guy in the cemetery with the scar. Goosebumps break out all over my arms just thinking about it, but it just had to be a coincidence. A very unusual coincidence, but still, just simply some kind of fluke or weird happenstance.

With a deep sigh, I lean towards the mirror and check my bangs once more. I'm anxious to find out how Edward knows about my scar, but I have no idea how I'm going to tell him I'm not the woman he's been looking for his whole adult life.

I push the door open and nearly let out a yell when I see him leaning against the wall right next to the restroom.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he says hurriedly as he pushes away from the wall. "Bella, is all of this too much for you? Of course, it is. I've been so selfish. It's just that I've wanted to share this with you so badly since I've been searching for you for so long. Do you want to go home now? I can walk you home, and we can talk another day. I'll do whatever you want, whatever you're comfortable with."

His concern for my well-being and unabated confidence that I'm the one he's been searching for leaves an unpleasant feeling in my gut. "No, I'm good. I want to know everything."

"Are you sure? I know you want to know about the scar, but it's also another long story and has things in it you might have a hard time understanding. But I promise to be truthful with you."

"I appreciate it. I can see your honesty."

We make our way back to the table, and he helps me into my chair before sitting across from me. His hair looks like he got into a wrestling match with his fingers, and I try not be affected by his looks. I tell myself to study the image on the side of my coffee cup, stare at my cuticles, stare at anything other than his stretched-out T which reveals finely-shaped collarbones. I've never noticed anyone's collarbones before, but I find them to be quite...manly.

"Um, Bella?"

"Yes?"

"I need to start out with a confession," he says as he rests his elbows on the table. "You know my stop on the bus route?"

"Yes."

"I actually live on the other side of town."

"What?"

"I've been parking my car in the Subway parking lot. I talked to the manager and got his permission."

"What? Why?"

"Why indeed…" he says with a shake of his head. "I guess I need to go back to two weeks ago. The day my life changed forever," he says as his mouth moves into a smooth curve.

"It was a Friday, and I felt like it was Friday the thirteenth. Have you ever had a day like that? Where you get up, and everything goes wrong?"

I nod.

"I went to nuke my breakfast, and my microwave shorted out. Sue was sick, so I had to cover the bookstore, and I lost an essay I'd written on my laptop that was due that day. I ended up running late to class, and I was stressed, and in such a rush that I parked in a 'questionable' spot.

"Of course, it was a 'no parking' zone, and when I got out of class, there was a female police officer with long blond hair in the process of towing my car. It was weird because she didn't look like a cop at all. I tried my best to talk her out of it, but she was hateful and had an attitude.

"So, I just stood there on the sidewalk, watching as they hauled off my car, and I had no idea how I was going to get home. This guy - he was checking out the blond cop - well, he actually hit on her and somehow got her number, but anyway her name was Rosie. After that, he asked if I needed a lift. He had a great sense of humor, and he was a really nice person. I think his name was Emmett or something like that. Anyway, I caught a ride with him, and we got on the highway, but there was an accident and bumper-to-bumper traffic, so he got off and cut through town. And guess what happened?"

"What?"

"We had a flat tire."

"Oh, no," I say.

"Oh, yes," he says with a grin.

"I told him I needed to go home and stay put because Murphy's Law was out to get my ass," he says, chuckling. "I don't know how he did it with all of the rush hour traffic, but he found a spot right beside your bus stop and pulled over. After we got the tire changed, I stood up, stretched, and looked around for a moment before I literally froze in my tracks."

He leans toward me. "I saw this woman standing on the sidewalk. I'd never seen a more beautiful woman in my life. Her face was tilted towards the sky, and her eyes were closed. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were red, and she had the most unusual look on her face. A kind of sad, yet peaceful expression. She was wearing a dark blue, wool coat, black slacks, and black boots with a bag slung over her shoulder. On her head was a blue knit cap with a cute little ball on the top with a matching scarf and gloves."

My cheeks feel fiery, and my breath becomes shallow, making me feel as if I might pass out.

He leans closer, and I can't tear my eyes away from his. "I just stood there; utterly dumbstruck by her beauty, when suddenly she pushed her hat up and scratched her forehead. A gust of wind blew her hair up before she quickly tugged it back down. Literally, only a second or two had passed, but it seemed so much longer; like time was somehow suspended.

"Bella, I saw your scar, and I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. The air around me felt charged with electricity, and the hair on my arms stood up. I felt a weird tingling sensation throughout my body and..."

He looks down for a moment, his thick, dark eyelashes lying against his cheeks. When he looks back up, the emotion in his eyes steals my breath. "It felt like... magic. It felt almost other-worldly and absolutely unexplainable. I know it doesn't make any sense whatsoever, and I can't really even find the words to describe it, but every single word my mother spoke to me ten years ago came true in an instant.

"My heart went wild, Bella, and I was lost in you before we ever spoke a word to each other."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** I want to take a minute to thank two wonderful people. Thank you to my dear friend Fran whom I am nominating for sainthood for putting up with me, and a warm thank you to SunflowerFran who beta'd this over the holiday weekend. They are both amazing ladies.

Hope you enjoy this chapter...

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 18**_

Edward's words swim together and separate like Scrabble pieces laid out before me that I can't combine into anything legible.

"Are you all right, Bella?" he asks.

"How are you feeling?

"You're pale again. I'm overwhelming, aren't I? I know this is a lot to take in.

"Are you hungry? Do you want a snack or something? Maybe a muffin or a scone?"

I'm numb.

Mute.

I'm disconnected as his questions pile atop each other building a mountain of confusion in my mind, but someone opens the coffee shop door, and a blast of frosted air hits me. It clings to my cheeks and snaps me back into the here and now.

"Are you feeling anxious?" he asks. "Can you give me a yes or a no?"

I start to respond, but I feel like I've gulped glue, and it takes me a minute to get my voice back. "But…I was...a stranger," I manage to whisper. "You didn't even know my name."

"I know. Crazy, huh?"

"Is that when you…followed me?"

"Yes," he says with a shade of guilt. "Your bus pulled up, and I saw you get in line and I panicked. I knew if you got on that bus, I'd never see you again, so I quickly thanked Emmett and got in line.

"You sat down and I made my way towards the back. I watched you as you stared out the window, and I had no idea what I was going to do, but I knew I couldn't let you get away. Not when I'd just found you."

He drops his gaze to his coffee, and I watch as he turns the cup slowly round and round with his beautiful pianist fingers. My thoughts are scattered, strewn. It's impossible for a person to feel what he says he felt in that moment for a random stranger standing on the side of the road. Especially not with just one glance.

I'm pulled from my thoughts as he starts speaking again, and I have to drag my eyes away from his hands. "Your stop arrived, and I got off with you," he says. "I had no idea where I was or what part of town I was in, but it didn't matter."

"You said this was two weeks ago?"

"Yes."

I try to think back to when I first noticed him, and it wasn't two weeks ago. I'm certain of it.

"You didn't notice me," he admits. "Trust me, I noticed that you didn't notice me, and that was one of my problems. But let me backtrack for a second. After I followed you home, I marked your place on my GPS. Do you have any mace, Bella? It's kind of dangerous for you to walk home by yourself in the dark, and I'm concerned about your safety."

"I can take care of myself. My dad was a cop," I say as my bag suddenly sits heavier in my lap with my mace and gun hidden inside. I quail thinking about how many times I've had that gun hidden on me...or placed in a strategic spot so I could access it quickly as I died on the inside at the thought of hurting him...

"A cop? Wow, that makes me feel so much better," he says, thankfully pulling me from an ugly place. But he pauses and cocks his head to the side, studying me for a second. "You okay?" he asks on a wisp of breath.

I duck my head and nod.

He quiets.

I glance up, and he's waiting patiently like he can read me so I wave for him to continue. "Okay. Where was I... Oh, yeah. So, I called a cab and went home and tried to figure out what to do next. I knew my only means of having any contact with you was on that bus, so I pulled up the bus route and studied it. I couldn't believe the route dropped you so close to my bookstore. I felt like it was fate, just like everything else that happened that day was fate, destiny," he says, his eyes penetrating like he's trying to convince me of its truth.

I create a diversion and become fascinated with the uneven swirls and patterns of the faux wood grain on the tabletop.

"I came up with a plan. I decided that once I got my car out of the impound, I'd park it somewhere close to your stop on Monday morning and get on the bus with you there. I scoped it out over the weekend, but parking in your neighborhood is horrendous."

Looking up, I see his animated face and have to chew my lip to stop a grin.

"I knew I'd never find a spot, so I started checking the other stops. The parking was just as bad, but I finally found the Subway, and everything worked out."

"You went to a lot of trouble," I say.

"I did, and I couldn't wait to see you on Monday. The weekend went by so slowly. I spent a lot of time at the cemetery talking to Mom...

"Anyway, when I got on the bus, you didn't even glance in my direction. I wanted to approach you so badly, but something held me back. I could tell right away that you were shy, and you seemed so…sad. I knew I had to hide my excitement about finding you, but I also knew I had to be smart about it. I told myself I could not mess this thing up, and I wanted it to progress naturally on its own without my interference.

"And then, when I finally got up the nerve to talk to you? I sounded like a bonehead when I blurted something about college!"

He flings his hands in the air dramatically, and a ball of laughter escapes me.

Grinning, he shifts in his chair and roughly parts his hair to one side, but it fights back and refuses to cooperate. The disorderly hair, the scuffed boots, the plaid shirt; it's an incredibly attractive mix.

"My emotions were all over the place," he continues. "One minute, I was flying over the moon that I'd finally found you, but the next second, I worried that you might not even like me.

"I'm a worrier if you hadn't already noticed. I actually never knew I had it this bad until I met you. Hopefully, you won't hold it against me. It's just that I have this need to keep you safe," he says, shaking his head. "Anyway, I focused on Mom's prediction and everything that had already come true, and I tried to have faith that everything would work out somehow."

He takes a sip of coffee, and my eyes are drawn to his mouth. I watch as his tongue darts out to lick his lips, and I'm surprised by the shock of heat that flashes through me. Ashamed, I quickly glance away, hoping he didn't see me staring at his shapely mouth.

"My first hurdle was to get you to notice me. I couldn't wait to tell Sue - she knows the story and is like a second mother to me - and she jokingly said I needed to hold up a sign or something. But that got me to thinking," he says as he picks up his funny hat. "I went out and bought this crazy hat. I normally only wear baseball caps or beanies, but it worked. You noticed me. I could feel your eyes on me, and I felt exhilarated."

A small, shy smile crosses his lips before he looks back up. "And when you smiled at me? Bella, your smiles did things to me I can't even describe. My knees felt weak and almost buckled a couple of times. You have the most beautiful smile I've ever seen."

"Edward, stop."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"I'm not that woman."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not that woman you've been searching for. You're mistaken."

"I'm not mistaken, Bella."

"Yes, you are," I say, my voice rising in volume. "There are millions of women in the world with scars, and what you've been looking for...this 'magical' love, you won't find it here, Edward. All you'll find here is pain and brokenness. And my scar?" I say as I yank my cap off and push my bangs up, exposing the marred flesh. "This scar? My _husband_...he put this scar on my forehead and, and...I hate this scar and I hide it and never look at it and try to never even think about it because it reminds me of a life I wish I had never lived...and I have things I keep hidden from everyone...even from myself because I can't bear to think about them because it hurts too much.

"I've been to every level of hell, Edward, and I've never come back. And I never will."

He jumps out of his chair and drops to one knee. "I know you have terrible things in your past, Bella, and I'm so sorry for everything that you've been through. I desperately wish I could take your pain away; I would take it all away and make it my own if I could. But your scar, Bella?" he says as he reaches his hand up and ghosts his fingertips across it. I gasp sharply as a hot, searing sensation blazes through my skin and gooseflesh breaks out in waves down my face, neck, and arms.

His eyes widen, and his mouth drops open as he quickly yanks back his hand. "You felt that didn't you?" he whispers.

Of course, I felt it, and I try to hide the fact that I did. I can't grasp why my body is reacting so dramatically to such an innocuous touch.

"I know your scar brings you pain, but I'll always cherish it because it's what brought us together," he says.

"Let me prove it to you, Bella. Let me prove to you that you're the one I've been looking for. Let me romance you. Let me sweep you off your feet. I want us to fall in love, Bella. We're both lonely, but we've found each other now, and we don't have to be alone anymore. What do you say?"

Our eyes connect - his begging - so I drop mine to the hollow at the base of his neck and consider the possibility. I know I could fall in love with him. Any woman could. It would be so easy; all it would take is the slightest shuffle. But the question is, could he fall in love with me? The true me as I am today; the person terrified of stained memories lurking in inky shadows. A woman who was once on a trajectory to a fulfilled life; a path paved with meaning as I held the hand of the man I loved...

Until all of that was obliterated one sunny afternoon.

Everything inside of me died that day.

I'm a shell, missing its prized center.

I want to - _need to - _say no, but my heart won't let my mouth form the word.

So, I remain silent, until the right words can fall from my lips.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** I want to thank my friend Fran for pre-reading, and my other friend SunflowerFran for her amazing beta skills. You ladies are the best!

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 19**_

The words never come.

So I just sit there. Waiting for something. Anything.

Sounds become amplified. A man who resembles Santa Clause and has a beach ball for a belly cackles; it's ear-piercing. Someone's phone _ding dongs_ with a text. A couple next to us are arguing: _"She's lying! I was not with that woman. How many times do I have to tell you that?" _

"Bella?"

I find Edward's face.

"Are you okay?" he asks for what seems to be the dozenth time, but I don't think he's asking it out of concern this time due to his bright eyes and curvy lips.

My eyes narrow. "Why are you smiling?"

"Because I'm happy. Happy, happy. Relieved happy."

"Well, I'm _not_ okay," I say on an exhale, "and I don't believe in love at first sight."

"That's why we should date."

"So, what happens if you find out I'm not..._her._ And don't say that won't happen. Or what if I don't...you know...fall...for you..."

"That you won't fall in love with me?"

I nod to the most beautiful, tenderhearted man I've ever met.

He leans forward. "Well, I guess I'll have to work really hard on that one."

My armpits dampen, and my face feels pink-dusted.

"But I've already shown you some reasons to fall for me. Let's see, I humiliated myself and wore a dunce cap to get your attention, so that means I'm humble," he says as he picks up the hat, roughly tugs it on, and makes a goofy, crossed-eyed face.

Laughter erupts from my mouth, and he cracks up with me. He rips the hat off, and his troll hair makes me laugh even more.

"And I stalked you, which means I'm protective. And I happen to be friends with the owner of Yorkie Fries so we can eat them daily and get fat. I think that's enough right there for you to fall in love with me."

I cover my face with my hands as I try to fight what his contagious happiness is doing to me. I peep at him, and his full wattage smile melts me.

"Are you ready to get out of here?"

Edward tosses our trash, and when he opens the door, a frosty wall of iced air slams into me, pushing my feet back a step or two. I press forward, leaning into it as the air pushes back like it's something tangible, real; a person, unseen, invisible, fighting against me. I cast my gaze towards the sky only to find the moon and stars are tucked away safe, asleep, and cozy beneath a blanket of onyx.

Edward walks beside me - a quiet comfortableness. I'm aware of him, always aware of his presence, and watch him from that pinprick, that small, stealthy spot from the corner of my eye.

A car minus a muffler noisily chugs past, and someone honks angry-like in the distance. I breathe in the comforting aroma of a warm fireplace as I curiously watch the curlicue, tell-tale of white smoke pluming upwards from a chimney.

We arrive at my apartment, and I press my key nervously into the palm of my hand. The ridges bite uneven marks into my skin even through my glove. I make my way up the stoop to my door and turn around, staring down at him.

"Wind's relentless tonight, huh?" he says. The blue, neon-green, and orange spikes on his hat toss around as he stands with his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his gray wool coat. I can't believe he bought that crazy hat just to get my attention.

"Yeah. Definitely."

He shifts his weight from one boot to the other. "The tip of your nose is red," he says.

"It's kind of frozen."

"You look incredible in this light."

I glance up at the weak, yellowish glow coming from the porchlight as my pulse quickens and my stomach dances. I laugh nervously when I see that the bulb has a thick, grimy layer of dust covering it. "That's because you can't see me."

"I see you, Bella, I see you so clearly. What are you doing tomorrow? Go out with me. I'm eager to start this 'falling in love' thing."

"Huh?"

"Go out with me. On a date."

I adjust my scarf and stare down the street at a car approaching. Its vivid bright headlights make my pupils constrict. It's a feeble attempt at stalling as conflict rolls around inside of me.

Edward steps closer. Grasping the railing with one hand, he rests his boot on the bottom step. I watch him from my perch above, studying his striking face, all of its masculine edges, the soft curve of his lips, the delicate curl of his eyelashes. His beauty pierces me and reminds me of my plainness. He's so accomplished: world traveler, musician, singer, business owner. What could a widowed, panic-attack-ridden bank teller have to offer him?

"What are you thinking?" he asks.

"A lot of things..."

"Bella."

"Yes?"

"Don't think. Just say, yes."

"I still think you're wrong about me."

"But what if I'm right?"

I say nothing. Instead, I press my teeth into my lower lip, but my eyes never waver from his.

He drags his other boot up onto the step, bringing him closer. "I'll keep you safe, Bella. I'll guard your heart. I'll protect you; I promise. Just say yes. That's all you have to do."

"I'll hurt you, Edward."

"The only way you can hurt me is by not saying yes."

His belief is so strong in that ridiculous prediction. He doesn't understand that I have the power to destroy him. And if I do, I'll destroy myself.

But I go against all of my reasoning. "Yes," I say in a whisper.

His lips twitch. "Yes?"

"Yes," I confirm with a nod.

His lips curve into a grin so breathtaking it almost knocks me backwards. My own lift in response.

"How's seven work?"

"Seven's good."

"I'll cook. Do you like to eat?"

I laugh and all of my anxiety, insecurity, and doubt scatters away. At least for the moment. "Yes, I do like to eat."

He chuckles. "Good. I like to cook. I'll try to impress you with my culinary skills." He takes a step back and pulls his collar up. Our eyes hold for a moment.

"I missed you today on the bus."

I knew he would.

"I missed your smile."

I drop my gaze to his roughed-up boots that I admire so much and can feel the small smile on my lips.

"That's why I showed up here," he says. "On your doorstep. I couldn't stay away."

"I'm glad you didn't," I say. "Stay away, I mean."

His eyes shine. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I can't stop thinking about you. Is that creepy?" he asks.

Grinning, I shake my head. All I've thought about is him, but I'm not brave enough to tell him that yet.

"Are you cold? You're probably half-frozen by now, yet I'm keeping you out here because I'm selfish, and I don't want to leave."

"I'm good. Not frozen yet," I say just as my teeth start to chatter.

"I see you're a fibber," he says, and we both laugh.

"Oh, before I forget," he adds. "Can I get your number?"

I tense. Giving him my phone number means calls, texts, strings attached. Ties I know I'm not ready for yet.

"Hold on," he says quickly, holding up his hands. "I don't need your number. All I need is for you to be standing on this porch tomorrow night at seven. That's all I need."

My body relaxes, thankful that he understands.

He starts slowly walking backward. "Is it tomorrow yet?"

I laugh and shake my head.

"I had to park three streets over. I'm going to freeze my ass off trying to get back to my car."

"Don't get lost," I call out.

"Would you come find me if I did?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to get lost, Bella. Come looking for me in about fifteen minutes," he calls back jokingly.

I place the key in the door and glance back over my shoulder. He's still standing there grinning. I give him a small wave before stepping inside, locking the door securely behind me. I collapse against it, smiling and feeling free. Feeling open to so many possibilities. Feeling open to maybe placing my trust and my barely-mended heart in Edward's hands.

But I catch movement from the corner of my eye. Oliver's standing on top of the trunk, stretching like he just woke up from a long sleep. Suspicious golden eyes bore into mine like he knows what I've been doing.

Right away, an ominous darkness falls over me, like an omen. He jumps off and saunters towards me, but I keep my eyes trained on that trunk. I remember buying it at the flea market that incredible weekend when things were good, simple; our love easy and boundless. He had laughed, his eyes crinkling, as he told me it looked like it had sailed with Columbus on the Santa Maria.

It sits locked, the key purposely lost long ago.

I know I have to lift that lid at some point.

But right now, I don't have the strength.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: **Thank you to my friend Fran and my other friend SunflowerFran for your pre-reading and beta skills. You two are wonderful ladies.

And thank you to everyone who is reading this little fic. I love hearing from you. It brightens my day, and makes my writing so worthwhile. ;)

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 20**_

I awake on the couch in the middle of the night, a sweaty mess of limbs, screaming; terror gnawing into my bones. My heartbeat rages, smashing against my ribs and I wheeze, struggling for each breath, fighting to stay alive as my blood courses through my veins much too quickly. Sitting up, I grasp my chest, my throat, as fear that feels like razor blades dig into my spine. I spot the daffodils on the coffee table, and I focus. I try so hard. I think of Edward, I pray, I pant, and finally, my lungs start accepting my breaths, and my heart slows its fury.

I had the nightmare again. The one that has haunted my nights for two years now. I haven't had it in a while and had hoped it was gone for good.

Completely spent, I fall back onto the couch, quickly turn on my side, and curl up in the fetal position. Squeezing my eyes shut as tight as I can, I press my palms into them in an attempt to ward off the images. But they surface anyway like a grisly beast from hell itself.

I see him, lying there, his body lifeless, eyes wide open, maggots feasting, squirming; his cold, stiff arm reaching for me, latching onto me, pushing me through the bed until I'm beneath it; trapped, suffocating in the cramped darkness as something evil, something enormous, and serpent-like slithers on the floor towards me.

I never see what's approaching. I only hear it. If it ever actually reaches me, I know it'll swallow me alive.

Trembling, I lay there, breathing heavily, trying to regain my senses. I tell myself over and over again that it's not real; that it's merely a dream and it can't hurt me, but I'm really spooked. I already sleep with all the lights on in the living room, but I get up and turn every other available light on in my apartment. I also flip on the TV and adjust the volume higher than normal. Reaching for Oliver, I hug his warm, toasty body close to mine. I love on him for a while, my fingers rhythmically pushing through his fur, his purring so calming, reassuring.

Eventually, I pull through as I always do and somehow pass the time. I clean the floors, do a load of laundry, pay some bills, and bake Dad some brownies. But mostly, I think of Edward. I analyze our evening together from every angle, rehash every word spoken, and come to some conclusions that leave me emptied and disheartened.

Edward knows I have scars, and he believes he can help heal them, but he doesn't know just how deep and jagged my gashes run. He has no idea how messed up I really am. He doesn't know I have a brand-new bed with brand-new bedding that's been sitting in my bedroom for two years … untouched. He doesn't know that I didn't even make the bed myself but asked one of my friends who helped me move into my apartment to put the bedding on because I couldn't bear the thought of my fingers making contact.

How can I have a relationship with a man when I can't even go near a bed? How would we ever be intimate? How would we sleep? Him on the bed and me on the couch?

And on top of that, when he figures out the truth that I'm not _that_ woman, what will it do to him? I could see the strain this search has already put on him. He's lived for years with this huge void in his life. He's never been able to truly love and be loved.

And now, this overwhelming happiness he feels? That makes it even worse.

I wish I could be _that_ woman. I wish I could fill the pair of shoes he's set out, but I'm one size short.

My life isn't full of fantastical love and magical happenings. I'm stuck knee-deep in a quagmire, deeming myself valueless. I live my days in a symphony of misery, bound by my death row thinking. I'm going to pull Edward into this muck I'm stuck in, and I can't do that to somebody as wonderful as him. I should break it off today and cancel the date, but I can't because I couldn't do something as simple as giving him my phone number. I could just put a note on the door, I continue to think, telling him something came up. But I could never resort to something so low. Edward deserves better than that.

I get dressed, and with a clouded mind, I make my way to the bus stop with my brownies in tow to visit Dad. My phone rings and a loathsome, repugnant feeling comes over me. I know it's her, and I know I shouldn't answer. How many of her countless calls have I deleted from my voicemail? Why do I do this to myself? Why can't I block her or change my phone number? Why do I let her have this power over me? Is it cowardice? Is it because she's my one last thread of family?

I debate and debate and for some reason still unknown to me, I find myself pressing my fingertip to the screen right before it hits voicemail.

"Bella? Is that you, Sweet Pea?" my mother says, in that sickeningly sweet voice of hers. I cringe at the pet name and can already hear the slur in her voice. "Where are you? I need my little girl. Why don't you ever come see me?"

Thankfully, she's not drinking vodka. I know her vodka voice.

"You know why," I say harshly as a sourness fills my mouth. I have no idea where she lives, and I don't ever want to know. I remember the last time I saw her like it was yesterday, and I plan on making sure that never happens again.

"_Don't think I can't find you," _she sings in a frightening voice. _"You can't hide from me forever."_

The bus arrives, and I sink into the first available seat and move the phone to my other ear. "What do you want?"

"You know what I want."

"I can't help you."

"Yes, you can. I know you have all that insurance money just sitting there, rotting in some dumbass bank somewhere. Jake died, and that's your reward. It's time you repay me for bringing you into this world."

"_I'm glad he died," _a voice wails inside my head. Guilt steals around me like a bandage, binding, wrapping tighter, faster, covering my face, my nose, smothering me. I gasp for air, panic buzzing in my ears, as a putrid churning hits my stomach.

"I pawned Nana's jewelry," she taunts. "I need money to get it out. Imagine the look on her face, the disappointment she would feel if she knew you had all that money and let her jewelry go to some stranger."

"You pawned her jewelry a long time ago, and she's staring down at _you_, not me," I bite back. "You think she would want you living like this? She would be disgusted if she could see you right now."

"You know I couldn't deal with it … watching her get sicker and sicker, her bones sticking out of her skin. What the hell was I supposed to do?"

"You were supposed to be there for her. You just left her dying by herself." My voice starts to shake. "You didn't even go to the funeral."

"Don't act like you're better than me because you're not," she says before her voice grows menacing. "_We know what you did._ If you hadn't stopped them—"

"I have to go."

"Where's your father? I'm so glad I left his sorry ass."

Her words should hurt. Her disrespect for my father should make me indignant, but I've heard it all from her before.

"I'm hanging up."

"Wait."

I give her one more second that she doesn't deserve.

"You're stronger than me," she says with fake emotion. "You always have been."

"I'm not stronger. I just make different choices."

She cackles bitterly. "Yeah, my choice is another man. Mr. Jack Daniels."

"Go to an AA meeting."

"I'll go to a meeting if you give me some cash."

I end the call.

It's always the same old rigmarole with her. Some things will never change, no matter how desperately I want them to. I silence my phone, knowing she'll continue to call and leave voicemail after voicemail as she gets drunker and drunker.

Leaning my head against the window, I close my eyes and clear my head of all thoughts. My muscles slacken as I listen to the quiet growl of the bus, absorb the vibrations, feel the jolting, jerky movements when we hit a pothole.

I think of Dad. Maybe today will be the day. Maybe, just maybe, Dad will remember me, and I can have one moment with him.

One moment for me to be Bella.

One moment for me to be a daughter again.

One moment for me to be remembered.

I need him so much, but I know the reality. The last time he remembered me was three months ago. The moment was fleeting, but it was everything.

I cling to that shred of hope all the way to the home: Dad's home.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **Hello my sweet readers. I want to thank my two beautiful Frans for their valuable input into this story.

This chapter is unbeta'd so blame any faux pas on me. And I've been futzing with this thing and accidentally posted the wrong chapter. Yikes! Lol. I've replaced it with the correct one. ;)

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 21**_

Blowing my warm breath on the chilly window, I watch as it turns into a transparent canvas. Using the tip of my fingernail as a pencil, I begin to sketch. Sharp, vertical lines become visible as I drag and twist shapes and curves. I smudge edges, draw scribbles, scrawls. I work quickly, deftly.

I stop and study it.

It's ugly. Nonsensical.

I erase it with a swipe of my palm.

Dad thought he had lost his wallet today. And every time I showed it to him with his ID in it, he claimed it was someone else's.

These are the hard days when I have to let him go and let him live in his own skewed world. He gets stuck somewhere, and I can't get him unstuck.

But I'm going to put those thoughts aside because I have a date tonight. And as I ponder it, I realize this is my first date ever.

_Jake…_

Something low in my stomach aches at the thought of him.

We never had a traditional date.

We just ... _began. _

And I immediately slam the door on those thoughts and refuse to allow any other painful memories to surface.

The bus drops me off, and I start getting ready. I pink my cheeks, blacken the tips of my lashes, and smooth clear gloss over my lips. I haven't bothered with my appearance in a long time because I've had no reason to.

Until today. Until Edward.

I know he finds me attractive with my face bare, his words and the warm flicker in his eyes have already told me so, but I now have this odd stirring inside of me, almost like an awakening. I _want_ to look good for him. I want that warm flicker to spark into something more even though I'm terrified that the ensuing flames might incinerate me. I know the realities and the hurdles Edward and I are going to have to face going forward. I also know we both may end up in a pile of ashes.

The collar on my blouse bothers me so I fiddle with it, trying to smooth it down. It's pale blue, simple, tucked into a pair of black slacks. My fingers touch the small gold studs that adorn my ears that Dad bought me when I turned eighteen. I only have a few things that are precious to me, and this is one of them.

I linger in front of the mirror for a moment, studying the woman staring back at me. My eyes – which are darker and more pronounced – stand out beneath a frame of bangs that hide my secret, safeguarding it. The remainder of my shiny hair, its waves pressed out, lays across my shoulders and down my back like a silky shawl.

I see something familiar, an eclipse almost. I'm now just a shadow passing in front of the person I used to be: a woman who loved, was loved, and lived. I don't remember what it's like to live anymore. Each day that passes is a relief, not a gift. Grief and tragedy have twisted me, molded me into someone I barely recognize anymore.

Sighing, I turn off the bathroom light and head into the living room. I pace back and forth, listening to the sounds of my black boots with the small heel go quiet on the rug and grow noisy on the hardwood.

The clock reads 6:18 p.m.

And I'm convinced that seven o'clock is never going to arrive.

I re-arrange the daffodils, I re-arrange the pillows on the couch, I make sure my small stack of books sitting on the end table are lined up precisely.

And I watch that stupid clock.

The ticking is so slow like every second is a minute, and every minute is an hour. Cracking open the door prematurely, I slip on my coat and hat and grab my bag. I place the straps on my right shoulder. But my shoulders feel cockeyed. I move it to my left. But it feels strange. So I finally give up and just hold the straps tightly in both hands.

After what seems like a couple of years, an engine roars and my heart thumps wildly. Peeping out, I see a black Jeep. I have no idea what Edward drives and the windows are dark so I squint, trying to see if I can catch a glimpse of someone when the door opens and Edward jumps out. He leaves the Jeep double-parked, and I just stand there, completely immobile. I should open the door. I should walk towards him, towards his vehicle, but I can't because I can't move. I'm completely frozen at the sight of a new Edward: black leather jacket, funny hat replaced with rock star hair, black turtleneck sweater, and my favorite boots.

I always thought Jake was incredibly handsome, but Edward is truly the handsomest man I have ever seen.

Somehow, I snap out of my haze and open the door the rest of the way. My heart explodes and flies away when he grins and rushes up the steps. "Wow," he says, his eyes moving over my face, my hair, the flicker in his eyes warmer and deeper. "Whoa, I mean _wow, _you're beautiful. I mean you were beautiful before, but you're like _extra_ beautiful now and I sound like a bumbling putz."

A blush blossoms across my skin, his words making me feel bashful. "Thank you. You too. Look … handsome ..." I awkwardly mumble.

Oliver meows, and Edward grins at him. "Who's this?"

"Oliver."

"He's cute."

"Thanks."

"Are you ready?"

Pushing Oliver back with my boot, I close the door and lock it. Edward tucks his hands in his coat and smiles at me as we walk the short distance down my stoop, across the sidewalk, and towards his Jeep. He opens the door, and I murmur my thanks and climb in. The warm air welcomes me, and it's tinged with the drowsy scents of old leather, cedar trees, and forest moss. Hypnotic alternative music I've never heard before plays quietly in the background.

The interior of the Jeep shrinks when Edward gets in. He's all long arms and long legs. He turns off the flashers, puts the Jeep in gear, and takes off. "Are you warm enough?" he asks, glancing over at me.

Smiling, I nod.

"That smile …" he says, shaking his head. "It's been a really long day."

I'm not quite sure of his meaning so I remain quiet.

"I had something happen to me earlier that had me worried about you," he says, giving me a sideways glance.

"What do you mean?"

"I was at the grocery and walked past the floral department just as a woman dropped a vase of flowers. It shattered and one lone daffodil rolled towards me. It was really weird. I picked it up and had a feeling come over me. I thought something had happened to you."

I consider it for a moment. "Well, I'm good so I guess it was just a coincidence," I say, brushing it off. The only bad thing that happened to me today was my mother.

He exhales. "I'm just glad that you're safe and here with me now. I have this need to be near you. I can't explain it, but it's intense."

"Oh." I have no idea what to say to this so I change the subject. "Um, I've never been in a Jeep before," I say quick-like. My eyes drift down to his arm resting between us, his hand on the gearshift. I stare at the dashboard, the roll bars – things all new to me that distract me from his words.

"I have a soft top I use in the spring and fall, but I lose the top altogether in the summer. It's loud, but the sun, the wind … it's worth it."

"My dad had a Harley when I was growing up."

"Ah, so you understand the appeal."

"I do. My dad loved that bike."

He downshifts and stops at a light. The seatbelt cuts into my neck and feels like it's trying to strangle me so I move it around, but I can't seem to find a comfortable spot. "What kind of music do you like?" he asks.

I grip the offending belt in my hand. "Um … I don't like country."

Because my mother likes country.

"Okay, we can cross off country," he says. "What else don't you like?"

"I don't like opera."

"No opera. What else?"

"No techno."

"That's good. We would have to part ways if you liked techno," he teases. "So what _do_ you like?"

"I'm embarrassed to say."

"Why?"

"Because it's really embarrassing."

"Okay, you have totally piqued my interest. Tell me."

"I don't want to."

"Oh, come on. _Please?" _

I cannot resist a begging Edward so I sigh heavily. "I … I like … Disney songs."

He barks a laugh. "Disney songs?"

"Disney, Pixar … I told you it was embarrassing."

"So like Hakuna Matata?" he says, his voice quavering with mirth. I can hear him trying to hold it together.

I groan loudly.

"Hey," he says with a chuckle. "I have no room to talk. I have an affinity for Christmas music. I once sang 'Silver Bells' at a July 4th party."

I let out a small laugh.

"So where did you get this love for Disney music?"

"My dad. When I was growing up, he'd take me to see every animated movie that came out and then he'd buy the soundtrack. He would read me stories and play the music in the background."

I have so many great memories… I can still see myself sitting in Dad's lap, wrapped up in his arms...

I quickly clear the emotion from my throat. "Oh, and I do like other music too," I add. "I like alternative, indie, blues, jazz. Stuff like that …"

"Well, that's good. I was afraid I'd have to serenade you with 'Under the Sea.'"

We both laugh and we've been so busy conversing that I hadn't noticed he's driven us downtown. I lean forward, peeping out of the top of the windshield at the sign over his bookstore.

"I thought we'd have dinner here," he says. "Is that okay?"

"It's perfect."

He parks and we walk the short distance to the building. Pulling out his key to the darkened shop, he grins as he wedges the door open for me. I murmur my thanks and step inside, and I stop and just stare. A table for two has been laid out dressed with a white tablecloth and a cluster of lit candles sit in the center. Next to the candles is a small bouquet of purple and pink flowers in a glass vase with place settings perfectly arranged. White lights strung around the check-out counter and cash register twinkle back at me. The only other light comes from a small, Tiffany-style stained glass lamp sitting on the counter.

I turn towards Edward as he shrugs out of his coat and tosses it on top of some books. "Do you like it?" he asks.

"I love it."

A satisfied grin spreads across his lips. "Your coat?" he murmurs as he steps close. I turn and lose my breath, my mouth parting, when I feel his fingers graze my shoulders, my coat slipping slowly down my arms. He removes it, and the innocent act leaves me feeling practically naked. I turn back around and his eyes find mine, no trace of a smile now, just shallow breathing that matches my own. The air thickens with particles of charged electricity which hang heavily between us. If I reach my hand out, surely, I can touch something in the air, grasp it.

Roughly clearing his throat, he takes care of my coat. I step away and break free from the bubble of energy, trying to catch my breath. Placing my hand on the back of one of the chairs, I lean heavily against it and begin reading the first row of vertical book spines I find at eye level.

Edward's boots scuffle noisily across the floor behind me. They quiet, and I hear him blow out a heavy breath. "Sue let me use her kitchen," he says. "I didn't burn it down so that's an accomplishment."

I let out a nervous laugh and he chuckles, and it's as if our breaths blow the particles from the room, leaving it lighter, airier. "I'll bring the food down. What do you want to drink? I would offer you an expensive bottle of Bordeaux, but I don't drink anymore," he says. "There's tea, lemonade, soda …"

"You what?"

"Um, I don't drink? Is that a problem? Sue may have some wine or a beer or something."

"Oh, no. I'm just surprised. I don't drink either. Tea's fine."

"I _used_ to drink. Gigging in bars there's not much else to do. I was young and stupid and when it became a problem, I stopped."

"Drinking … let's just say it's a family problem for me. I stay as far away from it as I can."

"I'm sorry," he says softly.

"It's okay," I say as I look back at the book spines.

He's silent for a moment. "Well, I'll be right back."

"Do you need any help?" I ask.

"No, I've got this," he says with a wink.

He turns and slams his knee into the table and lets out a garbled _"shiaaaaowwcchh."_ He grabs his leg and I try not to laugh, but I feel it bubbling. "Are you … okay?" I ask before a loud giggle erupts.

"_No,"_ he hollers as he holds his knee and hobbles around a bit before he glances up. "Are you laughing at me?"

"Maybe," I say through giggles.

"You're evil," he says, his eyes alight with mischief, "laughing at my pain."

"Sorry, sorry."

"Here I am supposed to be impressing you, but I might end up in the ER tonight."

He chuckles and I try to suppress my laughter as he walks backwards, grinning foolishly, until he finally disappears up a staircase at the back of the store. Pulling out a chair, I practically fall into it.

I haven't laughed in two years. Not since before the accident. I've forgotten what a wondrous sensation it is.

I place my palms on my glowing cheeks that feel like they've been warmed by sunshine and run my fingers over my curling lips.

My face feels new like I've somehow grown a different one over the past week.

All because of this extraordinary man named Edward.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **I want to thank Fran and SunflowerFran for all of their hard work and patience with me. I tend to drive people to drinking lol. And once again, this chapter is unbeta'd so any goobers are on me.

Also, this story is set in a made-up big city somewhere so any references to particular names of cities, etc. are fiction.

And thank you to all of my readers out there. You make my heart flutter.

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 22**_

Walking slowly down a tunnel of books, I run my fingertips along the frayed, worn bindings of stories written long ago by people who have long since passed. Reaching for one in particular, I carefully pull it off the shelf and gently cradle it in my hands. I open it and its perfume releases like I've just uncapped an old fragrance bottle. I inhale the scent of musty, antiqued paper and pungent ink. Turning a yellowed page, I wonder how many pairs of eyes have read these words; how many houses has this book been in. I picture it sitting on a kitchen counter, tossed in a bag, curled up with someone in bed. This book might even hold actual tears. Someone may have wept, been moved, changed even by the words printed on these very pages.

The sound of Edward's boots pulls me from my musing. I quickly snuggle the book back onto the shelf between its companions before I make my way back to the table. I smile when a beaming Edward walks down the staircase, proudly carrying two plates. I'm surprised when I see Sue trailing behind him.

"Hi, Bella," she says, grinning, her eyes nearly gobbled-up in a crisscross of lines. I imagine she smells of chocolate chip cookies and roses. She's wearing a scarlet-colored sweater with a black, billowy skirt that hits her ankles. Around her neck is a thick, knitted scarf the same colors of a rainbow. She has a pitcher of tea in one hand and a basket of bread in the other.

"Hello," I respond. She sets her items on the table and peers at me over the rim of her glasses. "Oh my, you look absolutely lovely."

"Thank you."

"I'll have you know that Edward slaved all day over this food."

"_Sue…"_ he groans, rolling his eyes.

She pats him on the arm. "Hush now and let me put in a good word for you," she says affectionately. "I happen to have first-hand knowledge of just how good of a man Edward is, and he _did_ slave over this food. He also stressed out and drove me a little crazy," she adds with a laugh. I glance at Edward and he's wrestling a grin and has two spots of pink high on his cheekbones. He shakes his head like "I give up." I find the exchange between the two to be delightful.

"Well, I'll leave you two alone," she says. "And Bella?"

"Yes?"

"_He baked,"_ she says dramatic-like.

I laugh and Edward groans again before he starts waving his hands at her, shooing her out of the room. "Harry never baked for me and I find it to be highly romantic. Happy dating, Bella," she calls out, peeping around him. "Hopefully we'll see each other again soon."

"Me too," I say. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, dear."

She disappears up the stairs, and Edward walks towards me chuckling. "Sorry about that," he says. "She's a little enthusiastic."

"I like her. She seems wonderful."

"Yeah, she's great," he says, pulling out my chair for me.

Murmuring my thanks, I sit and watch as he pours our tea and sits across from me. Pulling out his phone, he hits a couple of buttons. "I have way too many playlists," he mutters as a song I don't recognize starts playing in the background. It's beautiful. Some kind of soulful music with a haunting melody and an incredible male lead.

Smiling, he reaches for his napkin. "I made you something special."

"Oh, yeah," I say excitedly as I glance down at my plate for the first time. The left side contains a mixed green salad, and the right has a tall pile of pasta on it with something hiding beneath it. "It looks delicious."

"It's called Chicken Vesuvius."

"Hmm … I've heard of Chicken _Vesuvio_ but not _Vesuvius_."

"Well, that's because you didn't grow up in the Masen household," he says teasingly, his eyes sparkling in the golden candlelight. "It's just chicken parmesan, but Mom always put the chicken on the bottom and piled the pasta on top so tall that I told her it looked like a volcano. She loved that and insisted I give it a new name."

"Great name."

He nods. "She then taught me how to make the dish, and we had competitions to see who could create the tallest volcano."

"That's a great story."

"She was the best. I miss her so much."

"I can only imagine," I say. I place my napkin in my lap, pick up my fork, and carefully separate the salad and chicken parmesan until there is a neat line between the two. I then move my plate until centered, check the placing of my tea, and adjust the spoon and knife in a particular way.

Glancing up, I catch him eyeing me for a second before he quickly looks down at his plate. "Did you grow up here?" he asks before taking a bite of salad.

"Yes. In Franklin? It's a small town two hours from here near Madison."

"Oh yeah. I know the area," he says as he discreetly organizes his place setting to match my own. And it definitely helps me relax a bit. He must have noticed my unusual ways. I suppose I have OCD, but I've never had it confirmed by anyone. Because I refuse to see anyone. "You said your dad was a cop?" he continues.

"Yes. I'm an only child. He met my mom through some friends. He's fifteen years older than her."

Staring at my plate, I push a piece of spinach around with my fork. "My dad has Alzheimer's," I say quietly.

I look up and Edward frowns, his fork with stabbed chicken on it frozen in mid-air. "I'm so sorry," he says.

"And my mom's an alcoholic."

"Oh, Bella…"

"I hate sympathy. I don't want it. I'm just telling you facts. That's all."

Edward stares at me for a long moment before he sets his fork down, pushes his chair back, and stands. He steps next to me and holds out his hand. I stare at it, my brows puckered. "What?" I ask, looking up at him.

"I want to comfort you."

"'Comfort me?' What do you mean?"

"I want to give you a hug. Comfort you. This has nothing to do with sympathy. I'm not pitying you or feeling sorry for you. It's just a hug."

I stare at his outstretched hand. The only other person that hugs me is Maggie. I like hugs. I miss hugs, both familial and sexual. Dad used to give the best hugs, pulling me off the ground, swinging me in his arms until I felt like I could fly through the stars to undiscovered galaxies.

Placing my napkin on the table, I scoot my chair back and place my hand in his and that odd, static-like electrical charge that I felt before pulses through his skin into mine and shocks my heart into overdrive. He pulls me close, his arms wrapping firmly around me, but my arms stay stiff like arms on a scare crow. I finally lift them and wrap them around his back, and he squeezes me tight. I let go and my body goes lax as I soak in the security and solace of his arms.

He holds me, the simplest of hugs, and my heartbeat slows. I choke up, my throat tightening, when I realize that other than Maggie, I have no one in my life right now that cares enough about me to give me a hug. I cling to him, his gesture touching me on a level he could never comprehend.

With one more tight squeeze, he finally lets go and takes a step back. His face looks so beautiful in the soft light as he stares down at me. "See?" he says with the tenderest of smiles. "Just a hug. Some things just need a hug."

"Thank you," I whisper hoarsely, a few tears softening my vision. He helps me with my chair again, and I quickly blink the wetness from my eyes. He offers me bread, asks me about the food and if I need more tea. We eat quietly for a few minutes, sharing an occasional shy smile.

I watch him as he skillfully uses his spoon to twist the spaghetti onto his fork, and I think to myself that he could have stepped off the pages of any one of these books that surround us, dreamed up from an author's deepest imagination. He epitomizes a lead character. His face has a timeless quality that holds strength and beauty with his solid, angular jaw and heavy dark brows slanted over the most expressive eyes. With just a change of clothing he could be Mr. Darcy, Heathcliff, Sir Lancelot and as I'm picturing him in a suit of armor wielding a sword in his right hand, someone bangs loudly on the front door startling me so much that I drop my fork. It falls with a loud clatter to my plate.

"_Holy shit,"_ Edward mumbles under his breath, his eyes the size of oranges. With his wild, willful hair, stunned expression, and the fact that I feel like I just got caught having salacious thoughts about him, a bubble of nervous laughter escapes my lips. Edward immediately joins me and we both laugh until I have to dab at the corners of my eyes.

"That scared the shit out of me," he says, chuckling, as he pushes away from the table. He walks to the front door and hollers, _"We're closed,"_ before returning back to his seat.

"It amazes me that even with a closed sign on the front door, the hours clearly marked, and the store dark people are still dumb enough to knock," he says, shaking his head.

We both laugh some more. I take a sip of tea, and he starts eating again. "So when did you buy this place?" I ask.

He holds a finger up telling me to wait while he finishes chewing. He smiles, a bit embarrassed, as he quickly wipes his mouth. "Sorry," he mumbles. "Um, about two years ago. Harry and Sue adopted two boys, Sam and Paul, later in life. Sam's been my best friend since grade school. We stayed close over the years even when I was out of the States.

"Harry had owned this place for forty-five years before he passed. Sam and Paul had their own careers, and Sue didn't want the burden of running it, so I bought it."

"You're close to Sue?"

He nods. "We grew closer after Harry died. I'm one of her 'boys' now," he says, smiling. "I still have my grandparents. They retired to Florida. Our relationship is okay, but it was never the same after I left for Paris."

We finish eating and he tells me a hilarious story of how when he first moved to Paris, he got locked out of his hotel room wearing only his underwear. When he went downstairs to get a key, a busload of aging seniors had just been dropped off at the hotel, and he caught a couple of old ladies taking his picture. He tells it in the most wonderful, self-deprecating way, his laughter most infectious.

"You're an amazing cook," I say as I set my fork down and clasp my hands in my lap. "Thank you for all of this. For everything."

"You're welcome." He rests his elbows on the table, his lips twisty. "Are you in the mood for some more poetry? Followed by some chocolate cake?"

I can't contain my smile. "Chocolate cake? Absolutely."

And I can't wait to hear his lovely voice speak lovely words again.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: **Howdy, my friends! As always, I want to send my warmest thanks to my beautiful friend Fran for pre-reading and the lovely SunflowerFran for her incredible beta skills. They are too wonderful for words.

And thank you for reading my little fic. It makes me happy-happy.

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 23**_

"Did you know Lord Byron was quite the lothario?" Edward asks.

"No, I didn't," I say as I adjust my position on one of the oversized bean bag chairs he pulled out for us earlier. My legs form a sharp upside-down L, and my hands are knit together in my lap.

"He loved his cousin, half-sister, dozens of women, and also some men."

"Oh, goodness. I had no idea."

"He was also the son of a schizophrenic mother and was allegedly abused by a nurse."

"Wow. I guess that explains his scandalous ways. He was probably always searching for the love he couldn't get from his mother."

"I agree." Picking up the book of poetry he read from the other day he scoots around, trying to get more comfortable. Long legs squat over the oversized blue bean bag as it suddenly squishes, making it appear as if he's sitting on a fat jellybean.

The abandoned store has a chill to it, and suddenly, what feels like an icy breath of cold air can be felt running up the bumpy ridges of my vertebra. It causes me to shiver all over as Edward's expression changes, and his back straightens. His forehead wrinkles as he stares at a spot over my shoulder.

"What?" I ask with a quick glance behind me.

"I thought I … that was weird. I thought I saw a light or something," he says, his eyes bouncing from the front door back to the something over my right shoulder. "It looked like ... a ball of light."

I look behind me again, and all I see are two darkened walls of books ending in a dead-end.

"Hm..." he says with a shrug, but not looking quite convinced. "I guess it was a reflection from outside."

His eyes linger on the door for a second longer before he wriggles around some more. He finds his passage, and my lips quirk at his clever guitar pick bookmark. He begins reading, and I listen to his rich, melodious voice that hints heavily at his underlying vocal abilities. I watch his lips as they move and form words. They glide smoothly and effortlessly over the curvature of his mouth, and I can't take my eyes off them.

_She walks in beauty, like the night_  
_Of cloudless climes and starry skies;_  
_And all that's best of dark and bright_  
_Meet in her aspect and her eyes:_  
_Thus mellow'd to that tender light_  
_Which heaven to gaudy day denies._

_One shade the more, one ray the less,_  
_Had half impair'd the nameless grace_  
_Which waves in every raven tress,_  
_Or softly lightens o'er her face;_  
_Where thoughts serenely sweet express_  
_How pure, how dear their dwelling-place._

_And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,_  
_So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,_  
_The smiles that win, the tints that glow,_  
_But tell of days in goodness spent,_  
_A mind at peace with all below,_  
_A heart whose love is innocent!_

Closing the book, he lays it to the side and studies my face thoughtfully. It feels like I'm being observed microscopically, so I inspect the little button at the end of my right sleeve. I pop it open and push it back through the buttonhole twice before he starts speaking again.

"That poem could have been written about you."

"Hardly," I mumble. I start picking at the seam of my pants, hoping to drag out some thread.

"It could have. With your raven tresses, your smiles, and the tint of color on your cheeks."

My skin flares a deeper shade, and I'm sure I look like I just dabbed my face with a dark rouge. I bow my head until my chin nearly touches my chest.

"Am I embarrassing you?" he asks.

"Yes."

"I don't mean to. It's just that you have this quality. Like you don't want to be beautiful. Like you try to hide it, but you can't. Everyone sees the beauty in you, Bella, except for you."

His words trigger something. It's like someone just yanked open the locked filing cabinet in my mind and started ripping out files, forcing me to look at the pages. And I'm powerless to stop it.

"_You think you're beautiful? You think you're a pretty girl, you bitch? Come over here, and I'll show you just how ugly you really are."_

The words morph into a syringe full of adrenaline that plunges directly into my veins, igniting my flight response, and I quickly scramble to my feet. "Where's the restroom?" I ask breathlessly as I make a beeline toward the back of the store.

"Straight back and to the left," Edward hollers.

With a snap of the lock, I wilt against the back of the door, my heart fighting for freedom from my ribs.

I've had so many ugly words thrown at me, splattered against my skin, and instead of scrubbing them away, I let them seep into my pores, into my bloodstream, burning a fiery path straight to my psyche. I've been altered by a sword-yielding tongue dipped in venom. It's made me see myself through lenses coated in the blackest sludge.

The past clings to me like paved asphalt. I'm entombed in it, unable to move a millimeter.

Wetting a paper towel, I freshen my heated face, use the restroom, blow my nose, and finger comb my hair. I can't stay in here all night, so when I have sufficiently collected myself, I step out into the hallway and make my way back to Edward.

He meets me half-way, and his hair looks like a tornado buzzed through it.

"I'm so sorry, Bella," he says. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Um, yes. No. I just … I have problems. Sometimes. I mean a lot of the time. And things get to me. Sometimes." And I don't even know what I'm saying.

"Was it because I called you beautiful?"

"No," _I mean, yes._ "I just … I don't know."

"I'm sorry. Things just spill out of me. My mouth has no restraint. If I feel it, I say it."

He steps closer.

"Bella, I need a muzzle."

He says it so seriously like I should search my bag for one, and I immediately picture him wearing it, with his electric-shock-therapy hair, and I giggle. I don't understand how he can take me from wanting to run a mini-marathon out of here to sniggering like a small child in a manner of minutes.

He has a smile buried. I can see it. He's wary as if he doesn't want to dig it up yet.

"I don't want you to be muzzled," I say with an embarrassed snort at the end of it, followed by little giggles that keep squirting through my lips. I press my fist to my mouth to try to stop them, and it takes me a second to regain my composure. "You should ... feel free to say what you want. Just know that sometimes my reactions might be … strange."

"I'll try not to call you beautiful anymore, but I really think you are, and it might slip out. Can you forgive me in advance?"

"There's nothing to forgive, and it sounds so stupid that I can't accept a compliment."

"There's nothing stupid about that and—"

"Edward."

"What?"

"I'd like to hear some more poetry."

"You would?"

"Yes."

"And everything is good? You're not mad at me?"

"Of course not. I can't be mad at you for saying something so nice."

And he finally unburies that smile.

We both situate ourselves back on the bean bags. Stretching his lengthy legs out in front of him, he crosses one ankle over the other and begins reading, and I continue to be drawn to his boots. Their condition tells any observer that they have many, many miles on them. I picture them scuffling along the cobblestone streets of Paris, or strolling along the River Seine at night. I see them climbing the steps of the Eiffel Tower, and even lumbering along the vast parquet floors of...

_The Louvre._

I wince, my insides twisting and aching at the thought.

_Pollock, Picasso, O'Keeffe, Monet, da Vinci, Dali, Raphael, Michelangelo..._

Edward's voice startles me, and my eyes shoot to his. "What?" I ask, confused by my wayward thoughts.

"I was just saying that I can picture Lord Byron drunk and desperately in love with some unattainable woman while slouched at a desk with a quill in his hand busily penning those words," Edward says, chuckling. "Heartbreak usually brings out the best in people."

"Um, yeah. I mean, yes."

"That's how I wrote some of my best lyrics," he says with a slanted smile. "The pain of searching for so long … never finding you ... I've lived with this gaping hole inside of me for years." He pulls one knee up and rests his arm on it. The soft lighting behind him, the tender timbre in his voice, those genuine ivy eyes ... I quickly avert mine and pick at my slacks again. I feel my guard going up; a circle of invisible, yet impenetrable walls I let surround me, protecting me. He's so sincere, and I know he believes his words unequivocally, but I want him to stop. I'm not an angel dropped from the heavens delivered by his mother. I wasn't sent here by some metaphysical event. I wasn't—

"Bella?"

We make eye contact.

"Are you ready for some cake now? Do you want some coffee with it?"

I quickly nod and blow out a quick breath, a burst of relief from my lungs, more than ready to move on to something else.

He starts to get up, but his boot slips, and he falls back down kind of half on and half off the bean bag chair. "Well, crap," he mutters before laughing heartily.

"Do you need help?" I ask between spurts of laughter as I hop up. He's a helpless long, lean mass of legs.

"Yep. I've definitely outgrown these chairs." Reaching my hand out, he quickly grasps it, and I suck in a sharp breath the second our skin touches. I feel that charge again. That idiosyncratic surge of electricity that zips along the contours of my skin, leaving spiked hair in its wake.

Trying to hide the effect he has on me, I nervously laugh and try to help him, but he falls back down, and I nearly fall on top of him. We have to try twice more before he rises all the way. When he finally stands, he's there, just there, hovering above me and so close, merely inches away. "I'm supposed to rescue you, not the other way around," he whispers as his breath ghosts across my skin. Laughter slowly ebbs from his eyes as the green gets darker, deeper…

A forest without the moonlight.

Our hands are still clasped, and I drop his and stumble backward. My eyes find books as I touch my chest, willing my quickened breath to slow.

Edward roughly clears his throat behind me and remains silent for a moment. "I'll get the cake," he finally says in a low, grumbly voice. Boots echo across the wooden floor and tread up the steps before I finally turn around. I collapse into my chair at the table and bow my head, covering my face in my hands. I don't know how to do this. There's no denying now that I feel our connection. _I don't remember having this with Jake, _I think to myself and try not to cringe at the twinge of pain his name elicits.

I straighten in my seat at the sound of Edward's boots coming down the stairs. He enters the room carrying a silver tray with a beautiful round cake on it topped with chocolate icing. Small plates and our coffees are sitting alongside.

"Oh, wow," I say excitedly. "That looks delicious."

"I hope it's edible," he says with a twisted grin. "I haven't baked in a really long time."

"So I'm your guinea pig?"

"Yes," he says with wavy brows. "Let's just hope we don't have to go to the hospital after this to have your stomach pumped, or one of my body parts shoved in a cast."

I laugh and watch as he cuts a nice-sized piece. He balances it carefully on the cake spatula, but before it reaches my plate, it falls off and lands upside down with a plop on the pristine white tablecloth. His bright, startled eyes find mine before we both bust out laughing.

"Well, there goes my trying to impress you..." he mumbles with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes.

"You've impressed me plenty this evening."

He captures my eyes with his, hope blooming across his face. "I have?"

My cheeks heat as I drop my gaze to the doomed hunk of cake. "Yes, you have," I say quietly.

An intimate silence fills the room and lays heavy between us despite our few spoken words. After a moment, he roughly clears his throat, shooing away the stillness. "Well, let's try this again," he says lightly as he starts to cut another piece. "Maybe I'll have better luck this time."

I try to keep the mood upbeat. "You could just give me a fork, and I'll start on this one," I say, pointing to his mess on the table. "If it tastes as good as it looks, we might not want to waste any."

"And not use these fancy plates Sue let me borrow? Not a chance," he says with a big grin.

We sit at the cozy table eating the best chocolate cake I've ever tasted amidst twinkling lights that cast shadows over a jungle of books; our own private literary paradise. We eat quietly. Stealing glances, exchanging wisps of curved lips, eyes holding for the briefest of moments.

Communicating without words.

It's the simplest of surroundings, nothing extravagant. Yet I've never been so touched, so moved by someone.

Edward said he wanted us to fall in love...

And I feel my feet shuffling an inch or two.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: **Hello, my reader friends! My brain needed a little siesta lol.

Thank you, as always, to my gorgeous friends Fran and SunflowerFran for their reading and beta'ing skills. And don't blame SunflowerFran for any muck ups in this chapter. I did some futzing after the fact lol.

And thank you all for reading!

* * *

**_TO THE LIGHT _**

**_CHAPTER 24_**

"It's freezing out tonight. Are you warm enough?" Edward asks. He has the seat warmers on, and the heat cranked up on high, so it can't get much warmer in his Jeep.

"I'm good."

While his eyes are on the road, I take advantage and admire him for a moment. His well-worn black leather jacket fits him snugly, and I spot a hole near his wrist. He has the seat pushed back as far as it'll go to house his long legs. I like his legs and especially his thighs. I shouldn't be thinking of his thighs like that, but they look masculine and firm as he changes gears. I glance at his hand on the gearshift, and my eyelids close when I recall that indefinable feeling of his skin against mine.

"I wanted to talk to you about earlier," he says, and I snap to attention.

"What do you mean?"

"About when you rescued me."

_Did he just read my mind? _

I quickly focus my wide eyes on the SUV in front of us. "Oh."

"This is one of those 'if I feel it, I say it' moments. Is that okay?"

"Um … uh … yeah?"

The car in front of us turns. We approach a red light, and Edward downshifts, slowing to a stop.

And my heart follows pace.

"This is probably not going to sound right, but when we touched earlier, and I felt your skin against mine?" He visibly swallows hard, his throat moving with the effort. "All I want to do is touch you again, but I'm going to try to keep my hands to myself ... I mean, I'm _going_ to keep my hands to myself ... _good grief,"_ he mumbles, looking like he wants to pound his head against the steering wheel. _"__Et là vous allez l'effrayer à nouveau, crétin. Pourquoi ne lui dis-tu pas que tu veux la kidnapper et la garder pour toujours?"_

The light turns green, but Edward doesn't move. And somebody lays on the horn.

"Yeah, yeah." He waves his hand in the air before pushing in the clutch. "I don't know if it's because I've been searching for you for so long or because you're so … so … whatever ... all I know is, the urge is there and I just ... I wanted you to know."

My skin feels feverish as a shot of deep longing spears through me. Yes, it's too early for him to be saying these things, yes, he barely knows me, but if I'm being honest with myself, I want it too.

At a loss for words, I slip on my gloves that don't seem to fit right and wiggle my pinky fingers. "Okay," I mumble before I start digging in my bag for my keys. Thankfully, my apartment comes into view because I'm more than ready to leave this conversation in the Jeep.

"I'll get your door," he says before jumping out.

As we walk the few steps up my stoop, my mouth dries. He said he wouldn't touch me, but the traditional 'kiss at the door' pervades my senses, and my body reacts. I moisten my lips like I'm priming them for his before I turn around.

His expression has sobered, and the wind whips his hair in a dozen different directions as he tucks his hands in his pockets.

"Thank you for this evening," I say. "The dinner, the cake … everything. It was perfect. You've been so kind to me."

"You're welcome. You're worth it and more."

I don't know what to say, so I fiddle with my key and end up dropping it. I quickly pick it up and turn to open the door, but his voice stops me.

"Bella, I want to ask you more than anything if I can see you again tomorrow, but I can't. Sam bought a new place, and I have to help him move."

I nod and pull strands of wind-blown hair from my face.

"I'm going to miss you."

I'm going to miss him too – probably dreadfully – but I'm not quite ready to admit that yet, so I simply smile.

He smiles back.

"Make sure to lock up, okay? Remember, I worry. About you." He starts walking backward, and my smile widens. "I'll see you on Monday."

I give him a small wave and close the door, making sure to lock the extra deadbolt securely. I surreptitiously peek out the window and watch until his Jeep disappears. Silly grinning, I walk straight for the couch, but Oliver gets in my way, and I nearly take a spill. Playfully chastising him, I flop on my back and think about what a marvelous evening this has been. Edward was so charming and thoughtful and a true gentleman.

His insides outshine his outsides and his outsides are something to behold.

It's like he lit a flicker of light inside of me, and even though it's small, I can feel that tiny flame pushing away some of the darkness. Edward's words, his touches, his heart ... I hold onto that tiny candle with both hands, protecting it and hoping it doesn't get extinguished.

Because just one small draft, and it's gone.

I'm thinking about the words he spoke in French when Oliver jumps on my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. _"Oliver." _Laughing and squeezing him, I start rubbing his ears, and he purrs his pleasure.

"Edward mumbled something in French, and I don't know what to make of it," I say to him. "He was frustrated with himself and mentioned something about him scaring me again, and he called himself a moron." I laugh and lower my voice to a whisper. "But then he said, _'Why don't you tell her you want to kidnap her and keep her forever?_'"

I know he was being facetious, but those words...

They warm my bones and goose my flesh.

Oliver interrupts my musings by meowing that he's hungry. I finally get up, get him fed, and slip into my pajamas.

Lying sideways on the couch, I stare at the daffodils and replay every second of our evening in my mind, savoring every moment. I'm recalling – for the twentieth time – a picture of Edward sprawled out on the floor with the man-eating bean bag chair when I finally doze off.

I awaken and blink, everything a whirling blur. I blink several more times, and my eyes finally adjust. Streams of sunlight leave glowing striations on the floor, enhancing the burgundy and gold strands in my aged area rug. I glance at the clock, and I'm shocked at the time. I actually slept for hours, completely nightmare-free. I stretch my arms over my head as far as they'll go, reveling in how rested I feel.

After doing my morning rituals, I decide to bake Dad a chocolate cake in honor of Edward. I open the cabinet next to the refrigerator and carefully pull out my grandmother's handwritten recipe. Looping, hard-to-read scrawls are jotted on a small recipe card, and my grandmother got it from her mother, so it's been passed down three generations. Well, technically two, as my grandmother skipped my mother. The ink has smeared, and there are splotches and stains on it from many bakings over the decades. I now keep it in a plastic sleeve to protect it.

It's a good recipe, but not nearly as good as Edward's.

I gather my things, and I'm just about to leave the house when my phone rings. I look at the caller ID, and my heart sinks.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Bella, this is Vicki. Have you left your house yet?"

"No. I'm still home. What's going on?"

"Charlie had a bad night."

"How bad?"

"Pretty bad. He started yelling that Renee was cheating on him, and then he went hunting for his gun. Laurent's got a good handle on it this morning, but Charlie's now convinced that the guy Renee cheated with is in the building, so he's been trying to search the rooms. I'm sorry, hon, but this probably isn't a good day for you to visit."

I drop into my chair. "Thanks, Vicki. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, we'll take good care of your daddy, Bella. Enjoy your day off. I'm sure he'll be better tomorrow."

I want to go and be with Dad, help in any way I can, but I can't. When he gets like this, I exacerbate the situation because he thinks I'm my mother. I hate that the staff has to be burdened with his outbursts, but I know that's their job. It's what they signed on to do, and Dad isn't the only difficult patient they have. Some are even worse.

I try to push aside my glum thoughts, but I now don't know what to do with myself. Glancing around, my eye catches my frayed, worn-out hardcover copy of Wuthering Heights. The gold lettering on the spine is peeling, and pages fifteen, twenty-five, and ninety-three have come loose and are carefully wedged between the others. I'm embarrassed at how many times I've read it and how many passages I can quote. I also have a small stack of five library books sitting next to my chair.

I pick one up, but it doesn't hold my attention.

In the kitchen, I alphabetize my small stash of soup cans. I clean the refrigerator. I mop the floor.

And I sit on the couch with nothing to do.

My apartment seems emptier than usual, like I'm trapped in an empty box with the lid taped shut. But Edward remains a constant in my thoughts. I picture him picking up boxes, moving heavy furniture, laughing, his cheeks red from the blistery wind. What kind of hat is he wearing today? Maybe the funny one? I smile when I think of it and wonder if his friend Sam has seen it yet.

The solitude gets to me, so I decide to take a trip to the Museum of Art. I slowly meander from artwork to artwork, absorbing every detail, every brushstroke. There are so many different styles: expressionism, conceptual art, modernism, but my favorite is abstract. I love the reckless abandonment, the chaos; how you can be moved by something that has no meaning. I stand in front of a piece by Joan Mitchell entitled _City Landscape_ and let the colored swirls, the dichotomy of brushstrokes, the peculiarity of the painting envelope me.

My right hand, hanging by my side, grasps an invisible paintbrush and makes movements, matching each brushstroke, each swirl of color, on an airy canvas.

It's dark when I take the last bus home, and I think only of Edward. I'm consumed, and I'm becoming concerned about my preoccupation with him because surely this can't be healthy.

It feels odd riding without him. I glance behind me several times, thinking I'm going to see his shadow, his tall shape standing there, smiling softly at me, but all I see is a young guy with red headphones, rapping loudly to his music.

I miss Edward. I miss him more than I could have ever imagined.

The wind whips so harshly that it shifts my knit cap. I tug it down quickly and breathe a sigh of relief once I'm inside my warm apartment. After greeting me at the door, Oliver rambunctiously pats at a toy mouse dangling from a string that I made for him earlier.

With a growling belly, I open the fridge and pull out some turkey for a sandwich. I jump and nearly drop the package when I hear a loud knock.

Turning my head sharply, I inhale, and my heart does a flip. I scurry as fast as I can to the door because Edward must be done with the move. He must have missed me as much as I missed him. My hand finds the knob, and I fling it open, anticipation zipping in my veins, but my eyes widen, and I heave in a stunned breath when I see the person standing there.

It's an older version of me, lip curled, eyes glassy. "Well, hello,_ daughter,"_ my mother snarls.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N:** Howdy, readers! I just found out that this story made the top ten list for Fic Dive of the Month for July, August, and September over at A Different Forest. I did a little hula dance and nearly broke a hip. Lol. Thanks for voting. That's seriously awesome.

And thank you to everyone who has rec'd this story. ;)

Gotta say something about my Frans: thank you to my friend Fran for pre-reading, and my other friend SunflowerFran for beta'ing.

And thanks to you guys for reading!

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT **_

_**CHAPTER 25**_

An icy chill crawls up my spine as fear like a thousand sharpened needles pierces my skin.

I react. My hands lunge for the door, and I lean with all of my weight, I push with every ounce my strength, but it's too late. My hesitation—that momentary blast of shock—gives her just enough leeway, and she shoves the door open, knocking me backwards. I lose my balance and nearly fall to the floor.

"Surprise! It's me," she bellows with sickening glee before slamming the door shut with a loud bang. "When was the last time I saw you? The funeral? Or was it_ after_ the funeral?"

That single word crashes through my chest, severing a few arteries. I remember exactly when it was. It was two weeks after that awful day, one of the lowest points in my life. I was a stick figure back then, drawn and stuck on a piece of paper—immobile and deadened; emotionless with no heart, no skin, no organs. Everything about me had been ripped away with a whip, and I had nothing left in or on my person to destroy.

Or at least that's what I thought.

I had so many oozing scars from the burning hell I had just gone through, and I let her stomp in one day and tear off all my scabs. I've tried to scrub that day from my memory, I've tried to bandage those secondary wounds she inflicted, but blood still seeps through the gauze.

"How did you find me?" I pant between harsh breaths. "I don't understand."

"Sleep with a married cop, and he'll give you anything your little heart desires."

She sloughs off her coat and tosses it on the couch. "This place is a dump. Where'd you get this furniture? Off the sidewalk?"

A wave of nausea hits me as my eyes search furtively for Oliver. He innocently pops out from underneath the coffee table to greet her, but it's too late. She kicks him in the side, and he goes airborne about a foot off the floor before he screeches and streaks off to the bedroom, his nails noisily clawing the wood floor. _"Why did you do that? He's done nothing to you!"_ I shout as I race after him and quickly lock the door to keep him safe.

"You know I'm allergic to cats. What the hell is wrong with you?"

My eyes dart to the darkened place underneath the couch where I keep my gun. I'll never get there in time. I'm too far away.

I know I could never pull the trigger, but I could at least threaten her with it.

"How much have you had to drink?" I ask as powerful breaths rush in and out of my shrunken lungs.

"Not enough." She laughs manically as she picks up my mail and starts flipping through it. "Got any bank statements?"

"Was it ... vodka?" I whisper, even though her heinous behavior screams the answer.

_"Vodka, vodka, vodka," _she chants as she throws down my mail. "You know, that stuff is really expensive."

With choppy breaths and every skin cell trembling, my instincts kick in ... those primal, basic instincts of survival, self-preservation. Blood rushes triple time through my veins, shouting for me to do something, defend myself somehow, someway, but I have no weapon and nowhere to go. I'll never make it to the door in time and besides the living room, I only have a locked bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and a small bathroom.

It doesn't matter anyway because she caught me last time. There was and is no escape.

I'm like an animal lined up in a filthy stall, waiting to be slaughtered by her.

But I have to stay calm. I can talk my way out of this.

I can do this.

Focus.

"Sit," I say, my voice quivering. "We can talk. I have some cash."

"Oh, we have a lot to talk about, I – _well, well, well, _what do we have here?"

"No, please," I beg. I make a move for the coffee table, but she beats me to it.

"Does little Bella have an admirer?" she says as she snags my vase of daffodils. My stomach seizes, and I have to swallow down the urge to vomit. "Who would want someone like you?" she taunts as she pulls the flowers from the vase. "They're dead anyway," she mumbles before throwing them on the floor. She stomps them with her boot and tosses the vase with water still in it onto my chair.

Tears stab my eyes and burn my throat as I stare at the mashed mess. A searing pain hits my abdomen and I hunch over, grasping my middle tightly.

Her eyes turn towards the box near the door. "What's in the chest?" she asks wicked-like as she bends down and yanks hard on the lock. "Where's the key?"

"It ... it's gone," I sputter, my voice a strangled mass.

She stands, her eyes narrowing. "And you're a little fucking liar. Where is it?"

I shake my head. "There's ... it's nothing ... just Jacob's things."

She steps closer, and I flinch. How can this fire-breathing dragon be the same person from my childhood? The one who loved me, took care of me, protected me?

"That reminds me ... guess who I saw the other day?" A cold smile rises on her red-painted mouth like it's a marionette being manipulated by something fiendish.

I take a step back, urgent gasps caught in my throat as the walls of my apartment grow taller and taller, and slowly begin to collapse inwards.

_No, no, no..._

I shake my head. I shake it over and over, and over, again.

She throws her head back, cackling. "Poor Mr. Billy Black sitting in that wheelchair of his that you put him in. Oh, that man knows how to treat a lady. We talked. A lot. About his two dead sons and how you killed them both. How's the guilt these days, Sweet Pea?"

I choke as my windpipe snaps shut, and the room tilts and spins off-kilter. Squeezing my eyes tight, I clutch my throat, my heart thundering erratically. Collapsing to the floor and wheezing, I fight for oxygen with agonized gasps and beg for deliverance. I beg for death to drag me into the infinite darkness, into the deepest black, with no pinpoint of light. Shadows, heavy and laced with malice, press down on me, heavier and heavier. The black mass of nothingness rushes towards me, but I emerge as slivers of air are forced through my panting lips. Shudders—altered, uneven breaths—catapult me back to the present.

My soul—that deepest, hidden part of me—wails for the pitch-black void to rush back and drag me under again, but instead, light filters through my eyelids and the room tumbles. I'm unraveled, bits and pieces of myself scattering everywhere.

I'm stuck in a vortex, and I don't remember anything. I don't remember where I am ... I don't remember what I was doing ... I don't remember...

But then her voice hits my ears, and everything crashes over me, terror spiraling through my bones. I don't want to open my eyes. I can't open my eyes. If they stay closed, maybe she'll leave. Maybe she'll dissolve and melt away. Maybe she'll realize...

"Are you finally done with your little fit?" she growls.

I blink open my eyes, and she's towering over me. I get a whiff of the liquor on her tongue mixed with the cloying scent of baby powder, and I nearly gag. "Where's the money?" she demands her hands on her hips. If she removes her mask of a face, surely the devil lies beneath.

Unable to vocalize, I shake my head and scoot away from her, but I only manage to move a few inches before I hear a smacking sound, and an intense stabbing pain shoots through my cheekbone. I grab my face and grimace, screwing my eyes shut.

"Well, you can at least have that to remember me by," she jeers. "And the next time I come here you better have some cash ready. Do you hear me?"

The door slams, and I lay crumpled on the floor, a pile of trampled mud as I bite back red-hot, tearless sobs desperate to punch through my chest. My face feels like she slammed it on a lit burner on the stove, but I don't care. I don't care that she just desecrated a part of my soul.

I only care about one thing.

Opening my eyes to mere slits, I see them and drag myself across the rug. I gently lay my face on my most prized possession: the crushed daffodils.

Edward's gift.

The jerking seizing movement of my body subsides as peace and petals paint my cheeks. They're soft and velvety, and they remind me of springtime and crisp, dewy mornings. I try to guess where they were grown, and what patch of Earth they started their short life on. These flowers were grown for one thing: to uplift someone's spirit, cheer them, make the sadness lessen. I'm thinking of these things when the door vibrates with a loud knock, and I lurch and let out a small cry.

"Bella! Bella, it's me! It's Edward! Open the door. You have to open the door. _Please_."

I lay quietly, my heart jammed in my throat. If I lay still, if I don't move, he'll go away. He'll never know I'm here. He can't ever know the shame of what I just went through.

He jiggles the lock, and I'm thankful for the special one I had installed two years ago when I moved here. It locks automatically when closed, and I added an extra deadbolt for extra protection. "Bella, I know you're in there. I heard you. I know something happened. _Please_ open the door."

Scrunching my eyes shut, my body curls into a ball, the desperation in his voice shredding my insides.

"I swear to God if you don't open this door, I'll break in somehow. I'm _dying_, Bella, I'm dying."

It's quiet for a moment, and my ears strain for any noise.

_Has he gone? Please be gone..._

But he starts speaking again. "Bella, _please_ come to the door. You don't have to open it. Just stand next to it, so I can be near you and talk to you."

I contemplate it, indecision pervading my very being. I want him to go away. I want everything to go away. I want to just disappear, vanish. I want to return to the dust of the Earth, and forget I ever existed.

_"Please..."_ he moans, and a wave of pain passes through me almost crippling me, and I can't bear it any longer. Standing by the door won't hurt me. It won't give away my secrets. Slowly, I sit up. Blood rushes to my temples, my forehead, and I brace myself on the floor, trying to get my bearings. I hold onto the coffee table for leverage and carefully get to my feet. Dizzy, and with slow, soft footfalls, I reach the door and tap on it once.

Edward taps back. "Oh, Bella. Thank you, thank you. Please tell me you're okay. _Please."_

I take a moment to clear the sting and burning from my rigid vocal cords. "I ... I'm okay."

"I tried to get here. I tried so hard, but the traffic ... it was impossible. I need to see you. I won't leave this doorstep until I see you. I'll stay just a minute, I promise. Just one minute."

Placing my hand on the door, I rest my forehead against it, and I can feel him there like we're perfectly aligned; like if the wood disintegrated, our fingertips would be touching. The anguish twisted into his words pulls my heart towards him, and I can't keep him away any longer.

I decide I can do one minute. I can give him one minute.

With a shaky hand, I touch the doorknob.

And slowly open the door.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: **Hello. Yes, it's been half a century since I updated. I broke the cardinal rule of fanfic. I hate when authors don't update. There have been many instances when I wanted to smack an author lol, so please don't get violent with me. ;)

I hope that everyone is well and healthy and so are your loved ones. I'm sending love and prayers to those who are suffering right now. And I'm sending hugs to those of you on the front lines.

I have a million excuses why I haven't updated...I lost two furry babies which was devastating, pipes burst in our floors, remodeling ensued, I got lazy, and the list goes on.

I have three chapters finished, so I'll update those this week. And I have a satchel full of other chapters ready to go, so I'll try to make up for my terribleness.

Thank you for reading … you're the reason I write. ;) And thank you to my two Frans: my friend Fran for pre-reading, and my other friend, SunflowerFran, for her amazing beta skills.

Now, how is poor Edward doing...

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 26**_

With my head bowed, I stare at my threadbare socks as a great wind flashes through the door, dotting my feet with little specks of white that vaporize instantly. A freezing tremor whisks through me as Edward inhales sharply. "Oh God, Bella," he rasps. I feel him draw closer. He places one finger under my chin and gently lifts it. "Who did this?"

My eyes stay averted, and I stare off to the side. I can't make eye contact. I can't let him see my shame.

"Are you ... hurt ... anywhere else?" he chokes, his voice cracked and raw.

I shake my head, and he blows out a quick, harsh breath. "Bella, _please_ look at me," he pleads. I don't. Instead, with my eyes still on the floor, I step back and let him inside.

After deadbolting the door, I pause, still facing it. If only I could stay this way; stay with my back turned. Let him have his minute and then make him leave.

I finally muster the courage and turn around. His eyes are scanning the disheveled room, so I take the opportunity to step quickly to the sofa and sit.

Tugging on my sleeves, I rub my cold feet together, trying to warm them. My need to bolt hits me hard. I wish I could hide somewhere; maybe cower behind the couch or sneak out the back door.

"Were you robbed?" he asks. I'm so surprised by the question that I glance up, and he points toward the floor. I peer down and find my bag lying there with its contents strewn about. She must have ransacked it when I was having my panic attack.

My shoulders slump. "No." My voice sounds strange, like it's filled with sawdust or something.

"Do you have any ice?"

I jump up, brush past him, and head for the kitchen. I pull a plastic bag out of a drawer and reach for the freezer handle, but Edward stops me. "Here," he says as he takes the bag from my hand.

Dropping into a chair, I listen as he rustles in the icebox and hear the _clink clink_ of the cubes as they fall into the bag. My fingers touch the plastic placemat and that pesky curling corner that won't lay flat. I run my index finger over and over it, all to no avail. The chair grates noisily against the linoleum as Edward pulls it close to mine.

"Bella," he whispers, hushed, and gentle. I fight so hard against it, I don't want him to see my vulnerability, but the softness in his voice draws me in, and my eyes finally find his. His dart from one eye to the other—a spotlight—searching for answers before they move to my cheekbone, my lips, and back to my eyes. Mine rove over the paleness of his skin, the worried brow, his lips pressed so tightly together.

He reaches his hand out towards me, so hesitantly. My eyes drift closed, and I try hard not to flinch as feathery fingertips graze my cheek. "Your face … so lovely, so..."

I bristle and sit up straight. "It's nothing."

The furrow in his forehead deepens. He starts to place the ice on my cheek, but I take it from him and do it myself.

"Who was here, Bella?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, it matters. You have no idea how much it matters."

"I think your minute is up."

"I'm not leaving."

I drop the ice. "But you said just one minute, you said—"

"I lied."

"You lied?" I ask incredulously.

"Absolutely."

"But ... you sounded so sincere."

"I was sincere, Bella, but no one hurts you. Ever." His jaw tightens, and his eyes darken. "I'm feeling so murderous right now. I want to break whoever's hand touched you and rip it off their body."

I stare at him with wide eyes and mouth parted.

"Now tell me who did this so I can go take care of the situation," he nearly growls.

I sit motionless.

_"Now,_ Bella," he urges, and I finally snap out of my daze.

"You can't do anything about it."

"Oh, yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"Why not?"

"Because..." I say, but my mouth gets stuck. The words lodge in my throat.

He scoots closer until our knees are touching. "Tell me..." he whispers.

I swallow a thorny thicket of fear and cowardice. If I do this, I'll be exposed, peeled, dug up. I want to stay buried, keep myself, and all of this in the dirt where it belongs.

"_Please_, Bella."

A thick breath leaves my lungs. "It was ... my mother."

His eyes narrow just the slightest. "Was she drunk?"

I bend my head, my chin nearly touching my chest.

"Bella, you need to call the police and report her."

"It won't change anything."

"This has happened before?"

A sickness crawls over me, and he grimaces. "When?"

"Two years ago."

"Did she hurt you?"

I don't answer, and his face twists in pain. I rub the little knot on my right wrist; the bone that never healed properly.

"Did you file charges?"

"No..." I say, looking away. "That ... it was a bad time for me. I just couldn't go through with it. I didn't have the strength, and it only happened once."

"You can't let her get away with this."

"I know but—"

"There is no but. She needs to at least spend the night in jail for what she did to you."

"She'll never change, so why bother."

"She might not, but there have to be consequences for her actions."

Our eyes lock; mine steady and unflinching.

"This is not your fight."

Silence. A stare off. A stalemate.

Mumbling something in French that I can't quite hear, he takes his hat off and runs his fingers through his messy hair. He makes some huffing sounds before he tugs his hat back on.

"Okay, you're right, Bella, but I need to take you to the hospital. You could have a concussion."

"No."

The furnace kicks on, and the ice in the freezer shifts.

His heavy sigh signals defeat. "Why did you let her in?"

I drop my head again, the corner of my mouth twisting downwards. "I ... I thought it was you," I whisper.

"_Oh, Bella_," he groans, pain tinged with every syllable as his hands reach for mine. But he stops himself and fists his hands in the air before pulling them back.

A noise catches my ear. I tip my head, frowning, and I'm straining for the sound when I gasp and jump up. _"Oliver," _I whimper. Racing to the bedroom, I grab the doorknob, jiggling it, and I realize that I've locked him in, and I have no key to get him out. _"Oliver!"_ I shout.

"What's wrong?" Edward calls loudly. I don't even realize he's standing next to me.

"I can't get the door open," I practically sob as I yank and yank on the knob.

"I can get him out, Bella. Just give me a second." He whips something out of his pocket and gently pushes me to the side. I keep my hands on the door and can hear Oliver meowing.

Within seconds, Edward has the door open. I reach down and grab him and my body sags as I crush him to my chest. Holding his warm body next to mine, I close my eyes, and a tear slips out when he rubs his face against mine.

I quickly make my way to the couch and set him in my lap, checking him for injuries. I listen to his little purrs, reassuring me he's okay. I need Oliver. In such a desperate way. When my insides are knotted or when I feel I'm squeezed flat, he's there, loving me through all of it.

"What did she do to him?" Edward asks, but I just can't bring myself to tell him, so I continue to fuss over Oliver and ignore the question. Once I'm sure he's not injured, I cuddle his chubby body to mine and relax into the couch cushions.

Edward walks over to the chair and picks up the vase. "I'll just clean up a bit," he murmurs as he places it on the coffee table. "Do you have any towels, to clean this with?" he asks as he gestures to the water-soaked chair.

"It's okay. Just leave it."

He leans down and picks up my bag. "At least your wallet's still here." He puts all of my things back in it and sets it on the floor next to the chair. "Do you have a broom or something I can use to clean up these flowers?"

"No!"

His startled eyes find mine. "What's wrong?"

"Don't touch them."

His expression portrays his confusion. "Why?"

"Because."

After a moment, realization softens his face. "I'll buy you more..." he says gently, "so many more."

"No. I don't want more. I want those."

He stares at me for the longest time before he finally nods and walks over to the door. I watch him curiously as he opens it, checking and double-checking the locks before checking the locks on my two windows and making sure the bars are secure. "I'm going to go check your back door."

He disappears for a moment before he reappears again, holding my ice pack. "They seem in good shape. Do you have a gun or mace?" he asks as he hands it to me.

"I have both."

"Good. Do you need any painkillers?"

I shake my head, but the movement makes my cheek throb even more.

The couch dips when he sits down on the other end. Immediately, flashing lights paint the walls in orange, and my wide eyes dart to the door. "It's nothing," Edward says casually. "It's just my Jeep getting towed."

I turn my head sharply towards him. "What?"

"I double-parked again."

"But—"

"Who cares? I'll get it later."

"But ... I feel terrible. I'll pay the charges."

"No, you won't."

I stay quiet but resolved to pay him back somehow. "You can go now," I say. "I'm fine."

"If I go, I'll sleep outside, leaned up against your door."

"But … but ... you can't stay here."

"I can sleep on the couch."

"No!"

He looks puzzled. "Um ... I could ... sleep on the floor?"

"No, just..." I stutter as I tug on my bangs. How do I explain that I'm the one who sleeps on the couch? That I'm the one who can't sleep in my bed? "I might not ... be able to sleep."

"Well, how about I just sit here with you on the couch until you do get sleepy. I'll stay on this end. I promise."

"You really won't leave?"

"I can't. You mean everything to me."

Oliver wrestles out of my arms and moseys over to Edward, meowing at him. "Hey, buddy," Edward says, rubbing his head.

I stare straight ahead at the dingy, tannish walls. "Why did you come here tonight?" I ask.

He hesitates. I glance at him, and he angles himself towards me, his eyes penetrating. "I came because I _felt_ you, Bella. I knew something was wrong. I sensed you were in danger. I dropped everything and hauled ass to get here, but I was too late," he says with a grimace.

"I can't explain it," he continues, shaking his head. "I know it doesn't make any sense, but it's the truth."


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: **Another update. Thank you for all the love. ;)

And thanks to my beautiful Fran's. Any errors are on me.

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 27**_

I don't argue with Edward. I don't say anything. I just sit and stare at the discolored wall again and think about how absolutely preposterous his words are.

"How long has your mother been an alcoholic?" he asks.

Squinting, I lean forward just a bit. I think I see a faint formation in the dirty swirls on the bare wall. It almost looks like the outline of a dove.

"Bella?"

I give him a quick glance, trying to recall his question. "Oh yeah. Um, a long time..."

Leaning back into the cushions, images begin to stir and take shape in my mind's eye. It's as though I'm observing someone else's life; like I'm watching a documentary, and all of the events never happened to me.

But they did.

"She was a functional alcoholic. She kept it hidden. She was very good at keeping secrets..."

_Like how she'd spend thousands of dollars on jewelry and tell Dad it was costume jewelry and hide the bills._

"She was beautiful. She was the life of the party, an attention-getter. And things weren't always bad. She was a good mother. Once."

Visions of picnics at the park, her proudly attending my violin recitals flash before my eyes, but they are soon replaced with darker ones...

_Like the time she pushed me down and kicked me in the stomach while Dad was fishing and threatened to send me to an orphanage if I told anyone. _

_All because I accidentally spilled some of her make-up._

"She would love me and shower me with attention, and then the alcohol would take over. My grandmother became ill with cancer, and that's when her drinking escalated and everything fell apart."

I stare at the imaginary dove on the wall.

"She got drunk and didn't go to the funeral. She wasn't there at all for my grandmother during her illness. We've never talked about it, but I overheard them arguing. Dad was going to leave her, but she beat him to it. He tried to get her help, but you can't help the unwilling."

Stretching my cold toes, I reach for an afghan and wrap it around my legs.

"One day she packed her stuff and left … no note, no warning, nothing. She drained the bank accounts, and took every bite of food that we had in the house," I say as I look over at Edward. "What kind of person does that? She emptied the refrigerator, the freezer, and all of the pantry items. She left us with nothing. Dad had to go to the grocery store before he could even comprehend what had happened."

I'll always be haunted by that look on Dad's face. She stripped away the essence of who he was; half of him disappeared that day.

"It was a relief that she was gone, but then I felt guilty for feeling that way. And I missed her because she was my mom.

"It destroyed my dad. He was never the same after that. He sunk into a deep depression, but he kept it hidden from me. I didn't realize how bad it really got. He was such a great father and he made up for my mom being gone. I had a great life with Dad.

"I thought he was okay, just sad. I didn't want to leave him, but he was so proud of me. He wanted me to start my own life. And I didn't know it, but he went on disability. Then he started going downhill. He'd forget that I was coming to visit. He'd forget what day of the week it was. He started having problems with his speech..."

Memories swell at the base of my throat. I swallow them, trying to force the pain from my voice.

"I had to put him in a home because I couldn't provide the care that he needed."

"Oh, Bella, I'm so sorry."

I shrug. "Every family has their problems; some are just different than others."

I lick my lips; they feel pasty, like the words I've been speaking have left some kind of nasty residue.

"Vodka turns my mother into someone I don't even recognize. She becomes a monster. She gets belligerent and then sobers up and cries and begs for forgiveness. And then things ... well, things fell apart for me, and I let her in. I let her say things to me, terrible things..."

_"And I still do,"_ a voice inside my head whispers.

"And she took advantage of it. Of me."

Pressing my knees to my chest, I wrap the throw tighter around my legs and glance at Edward on the other end of the couch. He's angled towards me, brows drawn together, eyes studying me so intently. I look away and stare at his coat that lays draped over the coffee table.

"That must have been incredibly difficult for you."

"It was," I say as I thread my fingers through the holes in my multi-colored afghan.

"I guess we've both lost our parents, just in different ways," he says.

I think about it for a moment and realize he's right. We have.

Oliver makes a choking sound like he's coughing up a hairball. Frowning, I lean forward, trying to get a closer look at him and heave in a fast breath, strangling myself in the process. Coughing, I rush around the table and blanch when I see he has a daffodil petal dangling from his mouth. Quickly shooing him away, I drop to my knees and begin carefully picking up the scattered pieces and gently stacking them into small piles. Edward silently joins me, copying my actions.

Once we have recovered the beloved pieces, Edward speaks softly, reverently. "Where do you want to put them?"

Clueless, I glance around the room and can't think of anywhere. My eyes trail around, and then it hits me. I rush to the kitchen, grab a chair, and reach into the cabinet over the refrigerator. With the utmost care, I slowly lower Grandma's favorite, blue depression glass candy dish. I keep it up there for safekeeping.

With each of us kneeling again, Edward attentively helps me place the crushed pieces into the bowl. His eyes catch mine, the green in his is a lush meadow glowing in the morning light, dew glistening.

Layers lay in those beautiful irises. Layers I don't want to interpret; can't interpret.

Not now.

I clear the coffee table off and set the small bowl in the center of it before placing the delicate, nearly bejeweled lid with the diamond-shaped topper on it. I move it twice to make sure it's exactly centered before I excuse myself to the bathroom.

Bracing my hands on the countertop, I puff my cheeks and blow out a heavy breath. Leaning forward, I peer at my reflection. I turn, studying the already-blooming kaleidoscope of blues, and purples, and the round spot on my cheekbone that has already poofed out like a puffer fish. Sighing, I grab a washrag and gently wash my face, wincing a bit. I brush my teeth and throw my hair up in a bun. I don't feel comfortable changing clothes, so I just leave on what I'm wearing.

Edward's eyes light up when I come out, and I can tell he wants to cheer me up. "I like your hair like that."

"Uh … thanks." I sit on the edge of the sofa and chew on my fingernail.

_What in the world are we supposed to do now?_

"Um, do you want something to eat or drink?" I ask.

"No, I'm good," he says, and my stomach follows up with a loud rumble.

"You should eat," he says.

"I'm not hungry."

"I could order us something. Do you like Chinese?"

"I don't really have an appetite," I say rushed as I give him a quick glance. He nods knowingly.

"Do you want to watch TV?" I ask.

"Sure."

I reach for the remote that sits on the end table and flip through the several local channels that I get for free. "What do you want to watch?"

"You pick."

There's not much to pick from, so I choose an old sitcom.

We go through hours of TV, and just like he promised, he stays on his end of the couch, a magnetized anchor. I feel that pull towards him, a subliminal undertow.

I welcome his silence. I have no desire for chit-chat.

He steals glances at me, quite a bit actually, and I watch him secretly from my peripheral. He looms. I feel him every second like a second heartbeat in my chest. I wish he wasn't here—I don't want him to ever leave. Something deep inside of me—archaic—revels in his protectiveness.

My eyelids grow heavy like someone attaches barbells to them. They droop and a second later, I bolt upright and hear someone screaming. My mouth moves in sync with the awful noise, but it sounds like it's coming from someone else.

Gasping for air, I clutch my throat as the room narrows, and I see a flash of light. A faint voice in the distance calls my name. _"I'm dying; I'm dying," _pounds in my veins and rages through my bloodstream as hands wrestle with mine.

I hear my name again louder and some mumbling.

The daffodils.

I force my eyes open, and I can't find them. They've disappeared, been ripped away... _they're gone, they're gone, they're gone,_ my mind shouts as a metal clamp encases my throat.

"Bella, Bella, the daffodils are in the dish. Look at the dish. They're there, I promise, on the coffee table. Listen to my voice. I'm here. I've got you, sweetheart. I won't ever let you go, I promise. _It's Edward; it's Edward, Bella._ I'm here. You can get through this. Open your eyes and look at me, Bella, look at me right now," he says in a commanding voice.

My eyes pop open, and he's there before me on his knees, inches away. It's his face, his beautiful face; an ethereal angel. His mouth moves as his hands squeeze mine, and I watch his lips as my gasps finally force air into my starved lungs. The room widens, and my heart skips a tiny bit slower. My eyes close, and I collapse backward into a heap on the couch.

He leans against me, one hand continuing to squeeze mine tightly as fingers brush my bangs and caress my face over and over again as I take tiny steps back from the edge of the abyss. "I'm still here; I'm here Bella. Listen to my voice. I've got you … you're doing great. Keep breathing. It'll be over soon, I promise."

My shallow breaths slowly oxygenize my blood, circulating it to my extremities.

"_Ce qui vous est arrivé?"_he whispers in the faintest of voices. _"Oh, Bella, my Bella."_

I lay there lifeless, exhaustion spanning every inch of my body. I'm held down by boulders. My bones have turned to rock. His fingers brush through my bangs, along the contours of my cheek, and downward across my chin, over and over again, soothing me. On his next orbit, I feel fingertips slowly trace the outline of my scar, and my eyes fly open. His hand drops, but he keeps my other hand firmly grasped in his.

"How do you feel?"

My vision sharpens, and I frown. I thought he had an ethereal quality to him, but he doesn't. Instead, all I see is ashen-colored skin and brows furrowed so deeply I imagine it must be causing him pain.

I try to sit up but realize he's on his knees, leaning heavily against me. He scoots back and loosens his grip on my hand before holding it between both of his.

"Tell me you're okay," he begs.

My throat burns. "I'm okay," I croak.

"Are you sure?"

My eyes dart around the room, and I'm in my house, but how did Edward get here? It takes several seconds before it all comes back to me.

He rubs his thumb across my knuckles, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You scared me," he whispers.

I pull my hand away and rub my eyes.

"What do you need?" he asks. "Do you want some water?"

Still rubbing my eyes, I nod.

As I listen to his hushed footfalls make their way to my kitchen, I try hard not remember why I woke up screaming. I fight it with everything I have, but the scenes flash before me like lightning bolts:

_I'm running barefoot as twigs and briars cut gashes into my feet._

_I know who's chasing me, who's inches behind me, breathing their fiery breath on my neck. It's Jacob, and I'm too panic-stricken to turn around. _

_Because which face will I see?_

_Someone calls my name. It's Edward, his harmonic voice, but he's now the one chasing me and for some reason, I run even faster. _

_I trip, and plummet into a pit. I grab onto something on the wall, and I'm dangling precariously, hanging on for dear life, suspended above a dark, bottomless hole. My grasp loosens and looking up, I see that I'm hanging onto a single daffodil. Tightening my grip, I'm so relieved, so thankful that the daffodil has saved me so I start digging in, trying desperately to climb back up the wall when a hand grabs my ankle, and the daffodil rips from the wall. _

_But it's just an arm … with no body ... with claws for fingernails that dig into my skin._

_It's Jacob's arm..._

_And I'm dragged down, screaming my way through the infinite blackness._

Edward whispered that he wanted to know what happened to me...

I pray to God that he never finds out.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: **Hello again. Thank you so much for reading. I love hearing from you.

And thank you to Fran and SunflowerFran. Any errors are on me because I fiddle.

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 28**_

While Edward freshens up in the bathroom, I place two toasted bagels on a small paper plate. After pulling butter and cream cheese from the fridge, I set everything on the table. I pour coffee into two paper cups and some of it sloshes on my hand as well as the yellow countertop.

"_Ow,"_ I mutter as I quickly clean it up and carefully wipe my hand.

Starting over, I pour the coffee again, making sure both of the cups have equal amounts before I sit and watch Oliver as he lays on top of a small, plant-less plant stand I bought for him, lazily licking his paws.

Edward steps into the kitchen and drops down into a chair opposite me. "Thank you. This looks great," he says. "How are you feeling? Do you think you can eat a little bit now?"

Reaching for a bagel, I tear off a tiny piece. His hair is damp and slicked-back, and the bags beneath his eyes makes him look like he tussled with the moon all night. And lost.

Grabbing a knife, he slathers on a thick layer of cream cheese. His gray hooded sweatshirt has black scuff marks across the front of it, I'm assuming from moving boxes. My eyes trail to his feet, where his black socks rest, missing their boots.

Leaning back, he takes a big bite. "Mmm..." he hums, nodding, his cheerful yet exhausted eyes widening. It's like I'm feeding him a steak dinner instead of a lowly piece of bread.

I take a sip of coffee and think I should be uncomfortable. Edward is here, right now, eating breakfast with me, yet it feels okay. Like he belongs somehow.

"Your cheek looks better," he says between bites. "The swelling has gone down. Are you in any pain? Any dizziness?"

I shake my head, disguising the fact that I just downed several painkillers while he wasn't looking. "I'm really sorry about last night. What you saw..."

"I'm glad I was here, and there is nothing that could ever happen that would make me change the way I look at you. Nothing."

I don't have any words, so I take another bite of my bagel.

"What are you going to do when she comes back?" he asks as he rests his ankle on his knee. "I'm not going to lie, Bella, I want to take you home with me right now, so I can protect you. The thought of her laying a finger on you again makes me crazy out of my mind."

The bread sticks in my throat, and I choke a little. And take a quick sip of coffee.

"Do you have anyone you could stay with, at least for a little while?"

I know Maggie would welcome me, but I'm not going anywhere.

"Would you consider staying with me? And before you say no, it would be completely platonic. Just a friend helping another friend."

"I can't, but thank you. For everything. I'll be more observant." I don't tell him that I've had no need to be observant because I haven't seen my mother in two years. And that she tracked me down. "I have things I can protect myself with; she just caught me off-guard."

"Will you please reconsider? I don't want to leave you here by yourself."

"I'll be fine. I promise."

I need to move again; somewhere where she can't find me, but I just signed a one-year lease, and I don't have the money.

_I could touch Jacob's money..._

But I immediately shelf that idea. I'll never touch that money. I'll have to come up with another way.

"I'm not happy about this, Bella, but here," he says as he digs a small piece of paper from his jeans pocket and slides it toward me. "It's my number. It doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing, I'll answer."

My fingertips touch the crinkly paper, and I draw it close. "Thank you."

"I think I'll call a cab here in a few minutes. Do you need to go to the doctor or anything? I would feel so much better if you get checked out. I can take you."

"No, I need to get ready for work."

He holds his bagel in mid-air. "Work?"

"Yeah, it's Monday."

"But you need to stay here and rest. You shouldn't—"

"I have a job, and I need to be there."

I can see the wheels turning ... in the wrong direction. "Is this about money?"

"No, it's not."

"Bella, I have plenty. Let me help you, I—"

_"No,"_ I say emphatically. "It's not about money. It's about not letting my mother have the power to interrupt my life."

Picking at my bagel, I feel his gaze on me. His eyes that see me; see beneath my chaffed skin.

"Well, let's at least share a cab."

I don't shower even though I need to. It would be inappropriate, considering the size of my apartment. So after quickly cleaning up the best I can, I get dressed. Leaning towards the mirror, my eyes widen when I see the swelled left side of my face. My whole cheek and eye area are the color of a purple octopus.

Yanking open a drawer, I pull out some concealer and powder that I haven't used in years and do my best to cover it. I tuck both of them in my pocket for later touch-ups.

Avoiding Edward, I rush out of the bathroom and slip on my boots and quickly gather my things. I get down on my knees and retrieve my gun from underneath the couch and shove it in my bag just as I hear the taxi honk. I figure I'll skip lunch today since I didn't have time to make one.

When we get outside, we're both on edge. My eyes scan every which way for her, and so do his.

We don't talk much. We pull up in front of my building, and I let Edward pay. Mom stole all of my cash, so I'll figure out a way to repay him later.

We stand close, me looking up and him looking down as crowds of rushed workers dart around us. The wind wickedly whips, and he mutters a "whoa," and grabs onto his raggedy blue baseball cap that almost flies off. I shiver and pull my scarf tighter. "Does she know where you work?" he asks, and I'm surprised by the question.

"No."

_At least I hope not..._

"Good. That's good. Would you have lunch with me today? At the bookstore?" he asks.

Nibbling on my lip, I nod.

He grins. "What time?" he asks as he shoves his hands deep in his pockets and dances a little due to the freezing temperature.

"Noon?"

"It's a date," he says walking backward, which is the equivalent to walking straight into rush hour traffic. Someone bumps into him from behind, and he nearly trips. "I'm good. Don't worry about me, Bella," he hollers. "I'll pick you up here, on your doorstep. Soon."

I keep my head down as I make my way through the crowd and into the bank. I try to stay unnoticed, like white paint, and blend into the background like I normally do. I'm putting my things away when I hear a voice. "Bella, what happened?" Angela, one of my co-workers, asks stunned.

"Nothing."

"That doesn't look like nothing."

"Well, it is."

"You know there are ways out of these kinds of situations, right?" she asks. Her voice holds compassion, not judgment. "I can try to find something for you."

"I don't need help, but thank you."

"Well, I'm here if you need me."

I nod and busy myself with my bag.

"You can still carpool with me if you want."

"Thanks," I mumble, trying to keep my face hidden. She's asked me several times before, but I've turned her down every time. I keep my head lowered until I hear her footsteps as she walks away.

Instead of being white paint, I turn into bright orange enamel. I catch people staring, hear whispers, customers ask me point blank what happened. One woman gives me a card for a battered woman's shelter. I sneak away as often as I can and check my make-up, but because of my pale skin, it just doesn't provide the coverage that I need.

I check my phone periodically. No calls and no texts. From _her_. And I find that to be odd.

Noon arrives, and a warm eagerness blooms in my belly. I find Edward inside the bank standing by the rotating doors, his eyes roaming the crowd. The dusty, dark blue parka and baseball hat from this morning has been replaced with a gray coat and a black knit cap. His face is handsomely smooth, but I have to admit I miss the golden scruff that peeped from his skin this morning.

His face brightens when he sees me, but dims slightly when he glances at my cheek. He tries to hide it, but I see it.

"How was work?" he asks.

"Okay. Were you able to get your Jeep? Will you _please _let me pay something on it?"

"No need. I knew a guy there so I paid practically nothing," he says with a wink.

I can't imagine how much it cost him.

He lets me go first, and I carefully crowd into the rotating doors, making sure not to trip or get my bag stuck. We push our way through the blustery wind down the block and around the corner. The blue awnings on his old building look like they could shred at any moment, but their faded color displays their ability to somehow weather the worst of winters.

Opening the door for me, I step inside and breathe in the warm, antiqued air.

"Hi, Bella," Sue calls out, waving at me. Edward must have told her what happened because I know she can see my face, but her expression never changes. It only reflects excitement at seeing me. "I would love to sit and chat, but I know you two have limited time, so enjoy it."

I give her a small wave back.

"Let me take your coat," Edward murmurs. After hanging it on a rack, he says, "Come this way."

He places his hand on the small of my back and leads me to one of the huge picture windows in the front of the store where books are on display. Two battered-looking wooden chairs are pulled up to it, and he has pushed the books back far enough to make us a small table. Two sandwiches encased in wrappers, along with two drinks, sit on the edge.

We share a smile as he pulls out my chair. I murmur my thanks and sit. Staring out over the tops of the books, I watch as people scurry past, and I study the letters NESAM on the glass.

I turn towards him, and he's carefully watching me. "This is perfect."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

His faces grows sunny; pleased that I'm pleased.

"I got us some sandwiches from around the corner. I hope you like turkey."

"I do."

We open the packages, and I'm starting to get my appetite back, so I take a bite. We eat quietly for a moment, watching people from our perch behind the books.

"You know, I like the winter and the seasons and all, but it starts to get old. I can't wait for spring," Edward says as he stares out the window.

I follow his gaze and watch the sleet that has just started to fall. The wind sprays icy droplets against his surname on the window, and I watch as they warm and slip slowly down the glass.

My body loosens, and I relax into my chair. The comforting smell and warmth of the store, the food in my belly, Edward's company...

It brings something out in me.

"I own ten acres of land just outside of the city," I say quietly. "There's a lake. It's a deep green, and in the shallows, you can see all the way to the bottom. It's full of bass and bluegill, and you can see them dart back and forth, chasing each other."

My lips curve, picturing it.

"There's a small boat; it's beat up with dents in it but no holes. The place is wooded—full of silver maples, box elders, green ash—and there's a cabin on it nestled between two big oak trees.

"But my favorite place is the dock. It creeps out across the water about thirty feet. I used to sit on the end of it and with my toes splashing in the water, I'd lift my face to the sky, and let the warm rays streak across my face..." I say as I close my eyes and lift my face heavenward.

_"And I'd think how truly wonderful my life is..." _I finish silently to myself.

Opening my eyes, I stare out the window again. The bell dings over the door, and I hear a customer moving somewhere behind me. Unhurriedly, I people-watch through the glass for a time before I finally look at Edward.

Leaning forward with his head cocked to the side, he looks like he just opened a love letter from an anonymous admirer. Rolling waves of curiosity, wonder, and surprise alight his countenance.

"That sounds like an incredible place," he says.

"It is."

"Do you go there often?"

"I used to. I haven't been there in a long time."

"I'd love to see it sometime."

"Maybe," I say.

But I won't go back.

As I take a sip of tea, the back of the displayed books leaning on their golden easels in front of me draws my attention. "I love this store, the history of these books," I say. "I love to read. I worked in a bookstore in college. Everything was new, though, nothing like this."

"You went to college?"

"Yes. I have an art degree. I'm an artist. I mean, I _used_ to be an artist."

He sits there, immobile, with his mouth gaped open. He sits there so long that I think I've said something wrong. I frown at him, and he finally snaps out of it and scrubs his hands down his face before laughing.

My frown deepens.

"Bella. My mom was an artist. She worked full-time as a massage therapist, but every spare minute she had, she was painting."

"Huh."

I look back out the window. "I worked in a gallery. And I had a show. Once. I sold five of my pieces."

Umbrellas scurry past. I see a pink one covered in flowers and a yellow one with rubber ducks on it. They seem so odd in the middle of winter.

"I sometimes wonder where they are..." I trail off, my mind going to places I don't want it to go.

"Can I see some of your work?"

_There's nothing left to see … Jacob made sure of it._

I fold the paper over my half-eaten sandwich and set it to the side. "Um, I should probably get back to work now."

"It's okay if you don't want to show me," he adds quickly. "I completely understand if that's something personal for you."

"No, I just can't," I say as I stand and search for my coat. Within minutes, I'm out the door.

And back to the safety of the bank.

Where I can put on my fake smile and pretend I'm someone else.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: **Thank you for all of the sweet reviews and the love you have for my Edward. I hate to tell you, ladies, but I fell in love with him first. ;)

And thank you to Fran and SunflowerFran for all of their wonderful input.

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT **_

_**CHAPTER 29**_

A customer approaches. Gaunt-looking, eyes sunken and shifty, sores on his face like cigarette burns. His eyes swivel from left to right before he suddenly lurches across the counter, causing me to stumble back. _"I want my money,"_ he hisses through blackened, chipped teeth.

Beads of raised flesh dot my arms as my eyes flash to Angela. "_Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty," _I hear her chant. With one blink, I locate Marcus standing by the door, his hand resting casually on his gun. His badge flashes when he laughs at the guy standing with him.

"Cash this," the man demands, slapping his hand on the counter. I jump, his slap jump-starting me into action. I reach for his check and pull it from his long, dirty fingernails as I discreetly slip my left hand underneath my station. My jittery fingers stay poised on the silent alarm.

I draw in a shaky breath before releasing it. "Do you have an account?"

"No."

"Do you have ID?"

"It got stolen."

I swallow. "Okay. Let me see if we can get this taken care of for you."

With a counterfeit smile and my eyes fixed on him, I take carefully-placed steps backward until I feel safe and quickly race away to my manager's office. She immediately signals Marcus, and he stands a couple of feet away from the man while she explains why we cannot cash his check. He loses it, and a crowd gathers around as Marcus escorts him from the building.

And for just the briefest second, I think I see Edward's coat.

It all becomes too much, so I ask for an extended break, which my manager grants. I sit in the coffee shop in my building, taking small sips of the dark liquid. I bend the plastic edge of the lid up and down as I stare at people going by.

Bundled up, I step outside and walk in the opposite direction of Edward's store. Pulling my scarf up over my mouth, a man with a tattoo of a tarantula on his face approaches. Recoiling, I turn and watch him go past just as a hurricane of wind blasts my hair into my face, and strands get stuck in my eyelashes. I narrowly avoid a slushy puddle, and my stomach rumbles at the smell of cheese and pepperoni. Gathering my long hair in one hand, I lean against the glass of a high-end jewelry store. Flashes of dazzling, brilliant white diamonds the size of gumdrops tantalize my eyes. I wonder what type of women would wear these exquisite pieces. Would the man give the gift out of love, or amends?

Each step, each sensory experience peels more and more stressful layers from my skin, and I walk until my nose reddens, and my fingers and toes start to burn and tingle.

Once back inside the bank building, I make my way to the restroom. After powdering my black eye and cheek, I rearrange my bangs and try to finger comb the knots from my hair before finally going back to work.

Five o'clock rolls around and ripples of guilt waterfall over me. I ended my lunch with Edward terribly. I rushed out of the bookstore with him keeping pace and mumbled a quick goodbye when we got to my building. I need to talk to him. I know he won't be riding the bus anymore, but I have a feeling he'll show up to say goodbye.

I'm right. Just as I step outside, I spy him huddled close to the building.

"Hey," he says upbeat, but he looks exhausted and sleep-deprived. I hate that I'm the one to blame. I return the greeting, and we walk silently toward the bus stop. When we arrive, I turn towards him.

"I want to thank you for lunch and apologize for leaving like I did. What I shared with you was something really difficult for me to talk about and I—"

"I didn't mean to pry."

"You weren't prying. You were just being kind, and I didn't even thank you for staying with me last night. I owe you so much. Thank you, Edward. Truly. For everything."

His tired eyes light up and warm me despite the cold. "You're welcome."

The bus rambles toward us. I awkwardly mess with my bag, unsure of what to say next. "Well ... I'll see you, uh, later, I guess," I kind of stutter.

"Nope. You're going to see me right now."

My face twists in confusion. "What do you mean?"

He cocks a brow. "The bus? I'm normally on it, remember?"

"But ... I know everything now, and you don't even live near me."

"You're right. How about instead of the bus picking and dropping you off, you let the Jeep do it."

"But, that's way out of your way. I could never do that."

"Then I guess I'll be riding the bus again."

"But..."

He just stands there, all proud of himself with a big "I gotcha" grin.

Puffing a breath, I clomp up the stairs and shove my bus pass in the machine with a little more force than I should.

Packed with shoulders-touching-shoulders, I have a hard time finding a place to stand. I find a spot and grab onto the pole, and breathe in a quick, startled breath when Edward steps into my space and grabs the pole right above my head, facing me.

Stiffening, my head swims as I try to regulate my breathing. Quick, small pants leave my open mouth as my eyes stay fixed on the gray and white tweed fibers in his coat. The middle button—the size of a half-dollar and at my eye level—dangles precariously by just a few threads.

My knees weaken, and my eyes slide shut because have we ever been this close before?

"I'm not happy about this," I whisper to his chest as we bump gently into each other. The top of my head fits under his chin, and his scent wafts over me: rich, manly, intoxicating.

I'm concerned I might keel over.

"I know you're not," he says from above me, with a hint of humor in his voice. We get jostled, and I think his nose lands in my hair.

No, it _does _land in my hair. And I hear a throaty groan.

And I keep my eyes buried in the thread patterns of his coat.

"I don't want you to go to the trouble."

"I want to be here. It's that simple."

I shut up but silently fume. I know he's worked-up over the situation with my mother, but I don't understand why he would inconvenience himself like this.

A few people get off, and Edward finally moves out of my space. My appendages feel like Bungy cords, so as soon as a seat becomes available, I snag it.

He stands across the aisle from me, and I can feel his eyes. I glance up, and his mouth softly curls and his eyes are gentle, and that mouth looks kissable, and I don't think I've thought of his mouth like that before, and a hot flash rips through me, and I immediately strip off my hat, gloves, and scarf, and wish the bus had a fan.

As his stop comes closer, I play with my bangs, and my stomach does some acrobats.

"Oh. I forgot to tell you that I have a new stop today," he says.

My mouth falls open, and he laughs.

"But … you said the parking ... you couldn't park anywhere..."

"A spot came open."

My brows crowd together.

He chuckles again. "Bella, this isn't all about you. I actually have some selfish intentions here. Do you mind if I sit down?"

After a quick muffled grunt, I reluctantly gather my things and move over to the window seat.

He settles in, setting his backpack on the floor between his legs. "I need some help," he says as he leans towards me.

"With what?"

"I actually have a paper I need to write, and I'm at a loss, and since you have a degree and all," he says with a wry grin, "I thought I could consult you. That you could share some of your wisdom with me."

Mischief plays in his eyes. "You won't look at me differently now that you know I'm a man of lesser intelligence, will you?"

I do not want to smile. I don't. I want to stay annoyed, but my lips desire to curve, and we battle it out, but they eventually win. But only a little bit.

Beaming, he reaches down into his backpack and pulls out a raggedy, blue, spiral-bound notebook.

"My topic is 'Police Brutality vs. Dangers that Police Face' and since your father was a cop, I thought you might have some good insight."

My eyes narrow as I wonder if he just made up that topic, but as I stare at his weary, yet eager face, I decide it doesn't matter.

Dad loved his job more than anything, but the stress and the long hours did take a toll on him. He never talked about the dangers he faced, but I saw them first-hand. I share with Edward an incident when Dad was off-duty, and I was in the car, and he had to make an arrest. I manage to get the story in right before the bus ends its travels.

As we approach my apartment, his eyes constantly move, scouring the area, and I have to admit that where his eyes don't go, mine do. I lose track of how many times I look over my shoulder.

And my phone has still remained quiet.

An underlying fear lays silent between us. We don't voice it, but we both know it's there.

"Are you going to be home tonight?" he asks as he rubs his gloved hands together for warmth.

"Yes."

"So, you're not going anywhere?"

"No."

"Okay. Good. That's good," he says, a smile brewing on his lips. "Someone is going to knock on your door at precisely seven o'clock, and I don't want you to be frightened. It's going to be a guy named Ben. He's a great guy. And before you open the door, he's going to announce that he's Ben and that Edward sent him. So make sure to answer the door."

"Why?"

"You'll see," he says, his eyes crinkly.

Trying to figure out what he's up to, I shiver as I purse my lips.

He chuckles. "Well, you better get inside," he says. "I don't want you to have to thaw yourself later."

"I would ask you in, but ... I'm really tired. After everything..."

"Of course." He steps closer. "Bella, I..."

"Yes?"

"Bella, I..." he repeats, and I can see him struggling. "Just ... _please_ check your locks twice and keep my number close. I want you to be safe. I _need _you to be safe. My anxiety..." he murmurs, blowing out a white puff of air. "I swear I think I might be developing an ulcer."

"I'll be safe. I promise."

I duck my head and move up the steps to my door. Once I get it unlocked, I turn. The street light casts shadows around his tall silhouette, and he looks like a scene from a movie. "Goodnight," I say softly.

"Goodnight, Bella."

I lock the door and peep out but try to be inconspicuous. He stands there, moving a bit, trying to stay warm as he glances up and down the deserted sidewalk. An old truck backfires, and a heated exchange between two angry horns erupts in the distance. He tucks his gloved hands in his pockets and glances up at my apartment before looking back down the street again. He stands there for another minute or so before giving my apartment one last look and slowly walking away.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: **It's such a joy to be able to share my writing with you. It still amazes me that people read my words. ;)

Thank you to Fran for pre-reading and to SunflowerFran for her beta skills. They are two beautiful, amazing women.

I love each and every one of you. Stay safe and spread love.

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 30**_

After checking the locks twice, I slip off my gloves and start to toss them on the coffee table when I freeze. Tucked beneath my grandmother's dish are two, one-hundred-dollar bills.

Sitting on the couch, I slowly pull them out and lay them side-by-side and stare at Benjamin's face. I can't help but feel angry because I specifically told Edward that this was not about money. I _do not_ want his money. Yes, I struggle financially, but I'm proud of my struggles. I struggle for a reason. It's my penitence. I'm making it on my own, just like I promised myself I would, and I feel satisfied with my choices.

I pick up one of the bills and rub my fingers across its unique texture.

Edward is a good man, just like Sue said. Authentic, compassionate, and generous to a fault.

So what in the world is he doing with me?

I slip the money back underneath the dish and take a shower. Tilting my head back, the water—like hot rain—douses and smooths my hair back, unmasking my scar. This is the only place that I let it be exposed: behind a blue and white striped curtain.

The steamy downpour soothes along the curvature of my neck and spreads, gliding along every dip and curve. I let it scour away my shame, dripping off my toes into the drain.

I don't think about my mother. I don't think about Edward. I don't think about anything. I just be. I focus on every sensation, every rejuvenation until the water chills.

After toweling off, I let my hair air-dry. I blow on a hot spoonful of chicken noodle soup and watch the clock.

Obsessively.

After throwing my paper bowl away, I sit on the edge of the couch, trying to figure out the identity of this mysterious Ben. I determine he must be some kind of delivery person. My eyes drift to the empty vase, and I excitedly wonder if it could be another bouquet of flowers.

At six forty-five, I start pacing the floor. My hands sweat, and I repeatedly wipe them on my pants. I'm cautious, though, because every time I peep outside, I'm terrified my mother will be standing there. I'm peeking out for probably the twentieth time when a floral delivery truck pulls up.

Out pops the driver, now known as Ben. He slides the van door open and reaches for something. Turning towards me, he disappears behind at least a couple dozen white and yellow daffodils. With my breath caught in my throat, I rip open the door before he even gets to the steps.

He pokes his head around the enormous bouquet and grins. "Bella, I'm Ben, and Edward sent me."

I laugh with prickles of joy in my eyes.

"And these are for you," he says cheerfully as he hands me the vase.

"Oh, my goodness," I rush as I grasp the arrangement. "They're beautiful."

"Let me get the door for you."

"Thank you so much," I say before moving quickly and setting them on the coffee table.

I know I don't have money for a tip, but my eyes dart around the room anyway, searching for something, and that's when they land on the money Edward left me. I grab one of the bills and hand it to him. "Thank you again. They're so beautiful."

Placing his hands behind his back, he smiles. "He already took care of it."

"Oh. Okay. Well, you made my day, I mean _Edward _made my day. I mean, you both made my day." I start laughing, and he joins in.

"Your day is about to get even better because there's more," he says with a grin.

"More?"

"Yep. I'll be right back."

I can't wait so I chase after him and barely even notice the frigid temperature. He pulls out another huge bouquet, and I reach for them.

"Wait, I can take these in for you," he says politely.

"Oh, no. I've got it," I respond. He hands it to me, and I laugh as daffodils tickle my nose. Shuddering, I turn and carefully make my way up the steps, so I don't drop them, and Ben helps me with the door again.

"Thanks," I breathe out.

I place the arrangement next to its twin, and it takes up two-thirds of my coffee table. I line them up, and re-arrange the flowers, making sure they are perfectly and evenly situated. I turn to close the door and inhale sharply.

Ben stands there, his face completely hidden, behind a garden of the most beautiful pink roses I've ever seen.

I'm rendered speechless, transfixed.

"Do you want these on the coffee table as well?" he asks, peeping his smiling, expectant face around them.

My eyes burn, and I have to swallow around the lump in my throat. "Yes, right there," I mumble, my voice barely recognizable.

He sets them down and turns towards me. I mouth a "thank you."

"You're welcome," he says warmly, knowingly. "I hope you have a lovely evening."

Sinking down onto the edge of the sofa, I place the pink roses in the center of the coffee table and move the huge bouquets of daffodils on each side of it. I scooch them gently until they are all perfectly centered, but because of their size, they still crowd each other a bit. Reaching for Grandma's dish with the crushed petals in it, I set it carefully in front of the roses. Grinning to the point of silliness, a giggle slips out just as a tear spills down my cheek. Closing my eyes, I inhale the rosy perfume as more tears rapidly follow.

Hunching over, I cover my face in my hands and weep. I let it rush in torrents, unfettered. A cloudburst, hanging low and dark, lashes out of me.

This life.

Crippled and starved, love has been strangled from me.

I weep for my loveless mother. I'm a victim of a toxin in a bottle. A simple liquid.

One swallow, and she's deadly, vaporizing before my very eyes.

I weep for my father, whom I've already lost, yet without the taste of death.

I weep for Jacob. I weep for the man I loved. For the man I hated. For the deaths I caused.

And I weep for Edward. The gentlest of souls, caring for the broken, caring for me.

I weep until I have nothing left.

Drained, I drag myself to the bathroom and wash my face. With a glass of water in my hand, I sit back down in front of my beautiful oasis. Reaching for a petal, I catch sight of a card I didn't see before hidden in the lush roses. Sitting up straighter, I reach for it. Turning it over, I slip the small square from the envelope. Pink and gold swirls color the paper, and I eagerly read the words:

_**Your beauty lights the sky, breaks the dawn, rivals the stars. **_

_**Edward**_

Laughing, I wipe more tears from my cheeks as I quickly grab my bag and pull out his number. I lay the small slip of paper before me and stare at it. Pulling out my phone, I awaken the screen, and a number I don't recognize pops up along with a voicemail.

I retrieve the message:

"_Bella? Bella, Sweet Pea, Mommy needs you right now. I'm so sorry for what I did. I didn't mean it; you know I didn't. I would never, ever hurt my little baby. You are my precious little Sweet Pea. Forgive me, my darling, forgive me. I love you and you know I do. I love you dearly._

"_I'm in jail, Sweetie, and I need you to bail me out. I got arrested but I wasn't that drunk. It's all a mistake. The breathalyzer was wrong. You know those things don't work right. My bail is five grand and I know you have the money, so bail me out, little Sweet Pea. Remember all the things Mommy has done for you over the years. Jacob would want you to use that money. Remember Jacob." _

Her voice switches, like she just pulled down a giant lever on a breaker box, and the room turned pitch black.

"_And, Isabella, if you don't give me that money… _

"_I guarantee you there will be consequences…"_

I get the shakes so badly that my finger misses the delete button.

And I nearly heave.

Sobered-up guilt.

Fake. Filthy.

Maybe I should just give her the money. I could disappear. I could live in Canada, or somewhere like that...

I touch Edward's number on the slip of paper again. It's just a simple mix of seven numbers that would link us invisibly. I want to call him. Gush over his gift. Thank him profusely, but if I do this, he'll have _my_ seven numbers. He'll have a direct connection to me I know I'm not ready for yet, so I set my phone to the side. I distract myself by touching silky petals, rubbing my fingers over bumpy, jagged leaves, and pressing my thumb against sharpened thorns.

I sit there for hours.

At some point, I doze off. I dream of Edward, of summertime at the cabin.

_I see him, standing tall at the end of the dock, but instead of the wooden planks, hundreds of daffodils lay scattered, making a flowering path directly to him. I walk barefoot, sure and steady towards him, the petals soft and delicate on my feet. The sun glints off the gold and copper threads in his hair, and his smile curves to the tune of the waves gently lapping against the dock._

_Standing on my tiptoes, I reach for him, my fingers pulling gently through his soft hair, and I hesitate, just a breath, before I touch my lips faintly against his: just a brush, the slightest whisper._

I awaken with a simple opening of my eyes.

_Peace._

And touching my lips, I imagine his on my own.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: **Thank you to SunflowerFran and thank you for reading. ;)

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 31**_

I need to get ready for work, so I place my blooming treasures in my bedroom to protect them from a playful and curious Mr. Oliver. Reaching for Edward's phone number, I place it in the small zipper compartment of my bag.

My eyes fall on the money he left, which must be returned. I place the bills in a small envelope and tuck it inside my coat pocket.

_"How am I ever going to thank Edward for his gift?" _I moan to my empty living room with only Oliver as my audience. He meows in response, and I wish I spoke 'cat.'

I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to say because a thank you just doesn't seem enough.

And then I think of that kiss...

Groaning, I dash around the house. I brush my teeth twice, irritably rearrange my scarf I don't know how many times before I finally grab my things. I open the door and jolt, muffling a loud screech when a shadowy figure stands.

"Bella, I'm so sorry," Edward says. "I thought I would walk you to the bus stop."

With my chest rising and falling from the start he just gave me, I secure the door and hang onto the knob, trying to regain my wits. I scramble for something, for anything, to convey my feelings to him, my feelings _for_ him.

I grab the handrail and move down a couple of steps to him. Stepping close, I reach my gloved hand up and place it on his cheek. "Thank you," I whisper. "I don't have any words. It meant so much to me."

Reaching his gloved hand to mine, he covers it and presses it closer to him. "Did you smile?" he whispers back.

"So many times."

"That's all I need."

I stare up at him, hoping he can see everything in my eyes; everything I can't say. But they only stay on his for a second or two before they trail down to his lips, his beautiful plump mouth. That dream was so vivid I feel like I've already touched them; like I've already felt them pressed against mine.

But that was just a dream, and those lips, his lips, are right here, right now, just a breath away, soft and sumptuous...

I glance up and his hooded eyes are on _my _lips, and he licks his, and I want to grab him and crash my mouth to his but instead, I quickly slip my hand from him and step away.

I stand there in the cold, trying to regain my composure.

After a moment, Edward roughly clears his throat. "Well, we better get going," he finally says in a deeper voice.

Without looking at each other, we begin silently treading through the inch of snow that fell during the night.

"I wanted to call you," I blurt.

"My number is only there for when you need me."

We reach the stop, and I adjust my bag. "I can't accept your money."

"It's a gift just like the flowers."

"No, it's not."

"It will hurt me if you don't accept it."

"I just can't." Pulling out the envelope, I push it out to him, but he jams his hands in his pockets. "I'm not a charity case."

Brows pulled together; he steps close. "I would never think of you like that. Ever."

I stare at my boots. "I know."

Shivering, I look down the street before looking back at him. "I don't want it to sound like I don't appreciate your gift because I do. It's just that money is an issue for me. I know it seems like I live a humble existence with my dumpy apartment and how I always take the bus, but I actually have money. I just don't touch it."

He stares at me for a moment. "Well, this money is different. You've touched it so you can use it."

I try not to laugh, but his smile is infectious, so I give in and tuck the 'touched' money back into my pocket.

And a thought hits me.

"Oh. I almost forgot. My mother called last night. She's in jail. She got a DUI."

"_Thank God,"_ he says with a "whew" that sounds like a whistle. "Bella, I know she's your mother, and I do not want to be disrespectful, but I am _so happy_ she's there. Maybe I can now stop popping Tums every five minutes."

The bus arrives, and we board. We find a seat together and remove our gloves. The space feels smaller, tighter. He's so close that our elbows rub together. "Thank you for your thank you," he murmurs softly, but I barely hear his words because I'm staring at his lips again.

I cough a little and squirm in my seat before I loosen my scarf because it's a furnace in here. The bus definitely needs to check the thermostat because the heat must be stuck on 'high.'

"You're welcome," I mumble as my eyes dart around everywhere except in his direction.

"Bella."

My wandering eyes reluctantly find his.

"I want to touch you," he whispers.

My eyes expand to the size of tangerines as my lips part, and I huff some wind.

"Just something small," he says before looking down at my hands clasped tightly in my lap. "Your wrist. I want to touch the inside of your wrist."

_"Wha...?"_

"I'll just use my fingertip. Can I? I need to feel you, Bella. Just lay your arm out, palm up."

I gulp as irregular, quick breaths push from my lungs, and blood rushes through my veins. I cannot let him touch me. That would be inappropriate, but that's ridiculous because it's just my wrist, and we've already had our first date so I guess it _would_ be appropriate, but I've experienced his touch before, just barely and I know what that did to me, and amidst my rambling thoughts and already responding body, I lay my arm out, palm up.

"Pull your sleeve up just a bit," he rasps, his breath heavy against my hair.

With my other trembling hand, I tug just the slightest until I expose the small sliver of skin. With my eyes on the back of the person sitting in front of me, I almost leap from my seat when I feel his finger. Fire licks across my skin before a shockwave of cooled bumpy flesh flashes from my wrist outwards to every inch of my body.

Closing my eyes, his feathery finger traces slowly back and forth along the creased line that connects my hand and arm. It tickles, tingles. It shoots a spearing heat between my legs and hardens my nipples.

"You're so soft," he whispers raggedly. "I'm on fire for you, Bella."

I yank my arm away, every nerve ending igniting. My heart drums—echoing in my ears—yet I can still somehow hear Edward's breath rushing like mine.

It was the simplest of touches, yet the most intimate, and I suddenly feel awkward and uncomfortable like a hidden, naked part of me has been exposed.

"Don't pull away from me because of this, okay?" he breathes against my ear.

I don't answer. I'm still muddled.

"Okay?" he repeats, and I can feel the heat from his mouth in my hair.

Swallowing hard, I nod.

"I just ... I'm so hungry for your skin."

Sitting like a statue, I stare straight ahead with a volcano in my center that has boiling, molten lava about to rupture through the marble.

Clearing his throat, he blows out a quick breath before he leans down and retrieves his ratty notebook from his backpack. "I wrote," he says gruffly before he coughs and again clears his throat. He waits for a few seconds like he's still trying to recover. "I ... I wrote a couple of pages last night. I thought you could look over them. Tell me what you think." He tries to keep it light, normal, but his voice has a thickness, a roughness to it saying something else entirely.

He pushes the notebook towards me, and it takes me a second to revive.

As I silently try to read, my wrist burns from his touch, and I have absolutely no ability to focus. Words blur. My eyes move from left to right, and it looks like I'm reading, but I'm not. All I can think about is the way his finger felt on my skin. But then he starts pointing out parts he's struggling with, chuckling over his perceived terrible sentence structure, and I'm finally able to concentrate and relax. He jokes, making me laugh, and we begin to talk easily until he excuses himself and stands to let an older gentleman with a cane take his seat.

I rub my burned wrist until we arrive downtown. I exit the bus first and wait for him outside.

"Up for another lunch?" he asks like nothing happened.

Twisting my lips, I hesitate. I really don't want him to buy my lunch again. He's already spent too much money on me as is.

"You can't say no. Ever had a Phillychanga?"

I start laughing. "No, I can't say I have."

"It's from Waylan's. Think Philly cheesesteak wrapped in some kind of dough, deep-fried, and drizzled with cheese."

"Interesting."

"No, delicious. And don't say no."

His beautiful face. I just can't resist him. "Okay. I won't say no."

He grins. "Noon?"

I smile my response.

We reach my building, and instead of saying a quick goodbye, we stand there, looks more lingering, knowledge in what we did unspoken but apparent.

We finally part, and I watch him as he walks away. He looks back twice, smiling.

Once inside the bank, I'm tugging my boots off to change into some flats when I see Angela approaching.

"Hey, Bella," she says.

"Hey."

"Wow, yesterday was scary, huh?"

"Yeah, it was."

"He looked like a crack head. Have you ever been in a robbery before?"

"No. I've only been a teller for two years."

"I haven't either, thank goodness, but it makes you think, doesn't it? I forget that our jobs can be dangerous."

"It's a reminder always to be aware."

"Definitely," she says, adjusting her square black glasses. "You seem to be doing better today."

"I am. And thanks for being concerned yesterday. I didn't mean to be so..."

"That's okay. I just wanted to be helpful. I'm still here if you need me."

I think of Edward sitting in the cold on my steps earlier, having woken up who knows when, having parked in who knows what kind of dangerous spot, and having walked who knows how far.

I am not okay with him putting himself out like that.

"Um, I thought I might want to carpool with you. If you don't mind."

"That'd be great."

"Can I ride with you this evening?"

"Absolutely."

All morning, I touch my wrist and stare at it between waiting on customers. Edward arrives at noon, excited to take me to lunch. The unusual chimichanga is delicious, just like he said, but my anxiety makes it difficult for me to eat. Somehow, I have to tell him I won't be riding the bus, but every time I get up the nerve, he grins, or laughs, and his face sparkles, or he makes an animated expression that endears him to me. He looks refreshed and invigorated. I don't want to be responsible for erasing any of it, yet I cannot let him continue troubling himself with this unnecessary nonsense.

We arrive back at my building, and the words are there. I feel them there, waiting on the tip of my tongue, ready to be spoken, but I swallow them down. I chicken out.

My afternoon ticks by so slowly. Customer traffic into the bank stays light, so I have spare time to sit and dwell. My worry puts an ill taste in my mouth and a sickness in my stomach. I _want_ to ride with Edward on the bus; I _want _him to pick me up in his Jeep. I _want_ to be with him, but I need to put his needs before my wants. He has classes and friends and runs the bookstore and has a whole other life that I don't even know about yet, and he doesn't need to be wasting hours chasing some broken nobody on a bus.

As usual, I find him waiting for me outside, fighting the wintry air. I think of his dependability. A character quality so hard to find in people today.

As he approaches, I turn to Angela. "Can you give me a minute?"

She curiously tilts her head to the side. "Sure, no problem."

Edward doesn't seem to notice Angela. He probably just thinks I told her goodbye. "Hey, there was this estate sale I've been waiting on," he says. "An old professor who taught literature passed away, and guess what?"

"What?"

"I got his entire library."

"Really? That's amazing."

"It is. The books are being delivered on Friday, and I wanted to see what you're doing that evening. I'd love for you to go through the boxes with me and see what kind of treasures we can find." He has that grin again—the one with the sparkles that hurts.

"I'd love to."

He starts walking, but I stay put. "You know," he continues not realizing I haven't moved, "there's nothing more exciting than to see—"

He stops and turns around. I push the words out with effort. "I have something to tell you."

"Sure," he says, his enthusiastic face feeding my guilt.

"I..." I say before I drop my head, disgusted with myself. I heave in some cold air. "Edward, I'm not comfortable with you riding the bus, and this has absolutely nothing to do with what happened this morning. I just think it's too much, and I know you're making sacrifices to do it, and it makes me feel guilty so I'm going to ride with my friend Angela starting this afternoon."

It comes fast and all in one breath.

Just as I feared, I wipe his face clean. He steps close, a chain reaction of fear, panic, and disappointment bouncing around. "We've been over this, Bella, why do you keep bringing it up? I want to spend every possible minute with you. It's not an inconvenience for me; it's a pleasure. It's the best part of my day, actually. Don't you understand?"

"No, it's better this way."

"No, it's not," he says, his voice harsher, louder. "I told you I _need _to be near you. It hurts me when I'm not. Just let me pick you up. That'll solve the problem."

"It won't solve the problem because it's still out of your way and an inconvenience."

His eyes narrow to slits and his jaw tightens into a square. "Fine," he says bitterly. "If that's what you want, I guess nothing I say is going to matter."

And with a shove of his hands into his pockets, he disappears into the crowd.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: **Hello! Thank you to SunflowerFran for correcting my numerous errors, and thank you so much for reading. Also, thank you to those who have left reviews. I love hearing your thoughts about the story and my characters.

Now, let's see how Bella's doing...

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT **_

_**CHAPTER 32 **_

"Are you okay?" Angela asks over the hum of her Volkswagen.

"Yes, I'm fine," I lie. Leaning heavily against the door, I stare out the darkened window at the hazy images passing, my eyes catching nothing.

And I keep my hand curled around my wrist, my thumb resting where Edward touched me.

Music fills the background rather than conversation, and I appreciate Angela's ability to read me. She drops me at my door, and we make an arrangement that I'll pay her on our next payday. I also make sure to thank her properly, even though I feel troubled.

And I can't get Edward's expression out of my head.

He had every right to respond like that. I felt so sure in my decision. I knew what I was doing was best for him, but his reaction carved a small hole in my chest. Maybe my decision was what was best for _me_ instead of him. I keep holding him at arm's length because I need my space. I need a gulf between us, a barrier, to keep him distant. The closer I get to him, the closer he gets to me, and the closer he gets to the hidden cracks and shards and splinters in the darkest parts of my heart. He can't know the cuts and oozing wounds I still bandage daily; bandages I never want to strip off, never want to expose to the light.

It's so hard to believe that there once was a time in my life when I welcomed attention, desired it even. Sometimes it feels like that person never existed, like I imagined her or somehow created that other life.

I blink, and a memory flashes before my eyes...

_We're at the cabin. Aqua skies, sun-kissed skin, tiny bikini. I laughed with delight as he chased me to the bedroom and pressed me into the cool sheets, our bodies becoming one._

But in the next blink, I grab my temples and squeeze my eyes shut tight when another memory hurls into me...

"_Where are the knives?" Jacob shouted in my face. His neck was red, and his eyes were bulging. I nearly dropped his plate before I somehow managed to place it in front of him._

_I kept all the knives way up high on top of one of the kitchen cabinets for safety. "I already cut your steak for you, see?"_

"_Are you treating me like a two-year-old, you bitch?"_

"_Of course not, I would never—"_

"_I said mashed potatoes," he shouted, and I shrank back. "You can't remember shit, can you? You're a worthless piece of shit."_

_Staring at the baked potato I had prepared, my shoulders sagged. I swallowed, and it felt like I just swallowed the knife I used to cut his steak. I coughed through the tightness of my throat._

"_I'll … I'll make … some mashed potatoes."_

_Picking up his plate, I set it on the counter and felt a sob forming in my chest. But I would not cry. My hands shook as I started a pot of water on the stove. I pulled out the vegetable peeler and started working on some potatoes._

"_You know what?" Jake said. "I think I want a baked potato, but I know for certain I told you mashed. Are you upset?"_

"_No, no, I'm fine."_

"_Good. You're a good wife sometimes. You know that, right?"_

"_Yes."_

"_I'm glad we're married. You take good care of me. I appreciate that."_

_I nodded as I poured the water from the pot into the drain and wished I could somehow go down with it._

Painful breaths surge from my lungs. I wish I could grab those images, cork them in a bottle and toss them out to sea, but I know they'll always wash back to shore. I wish I could hit delete. Yank the ugly ones out like a file folder and shred them, but I know they'll never go away.

It's who I am now.

Rubbing my eyes, I stare at the ceiling for a while. The nighttime goes by like an eternity. I count the number of thorns on each rose Edward gave me. I try to count the petals, but find it harder than I thought it would be. I sit and watch the minutes on the clock bleed into hours before I finally doze off and get a couple of hours of nightmare-free sleep.

I get ready for work, and Angela arrives to pick me up. And I try to prepare what to say to him. "Do you want to do lunch?" she asks as we pull into the parking garage.

"Uh..." I stall, having no idea what to say. Yes, my lunch is tucked away in my bag, but will Edward show up? Is he still angry with me? Is he done with my screwed-up self? How I'm hot and cold and won't let him in?

I have this nauseating turmoil going on in my gut because I know if he doesn't show, I'll be wrecked.

"That's okay," she says. "You don't have to."

"No, it's not like that. I'd love to have lunch with you it's just—"

"Is it that man you were with yesterday?"

I hesitate.

"You don't have to tell me anything. I'm just available if you are."

I don't know why I've never talked to Angela before other than casual conversation. She's tried to offer more of a friendship, but I've always brushed her off. I guess I've been stuck in this impenetrable bubble, not allowing anyone to pierce it.

"I'd love to do lunch sometime," I say. "I'll let you know when."

We exit the garage on foot and round the corner. I immediately see Edward standing next to the building, straining his neck, worried eyes searching the masses. I'm short and moving in a big crowd, so it takes him a moment to catch sight of me. He settles. Relief gently lifting his lips.

We get close, and Angela looks from me to him and back to me before giving me a small wave and walking off.

His eyes run paths from my eyes to my mouth to my cheek and everywhere in between like he's checking things, making sure I'm here and intact.

"Bella, I need to apologize for the way I acted yesterday, I—" he begins, and I cut him off.

"No, I'm the one who needs to apologize."

"No, I need to—"

"Edward, please let me speak."

He presses his lips together tightly like he's holding his breath. "Okay," he says with a burst of air, "but I'm next in line." It strikes me funny, and I laugh a little, and he chuckles, and it helps ease the tension a bit.

"I'm sorry I made you angry. I totally deserved it, and I know I'm being stubborn. It's just that I haven't let anyone get close to me since ... I lost ... him, and even way before that. I mean _no one_. You overwhelm me, and I want to let you in, but it needs to be at my own pace."

"Of course, and I completely understand. I hate that I got pissed off and walked away like I did. That was just my frustration showing. I know I'm overwhelming and pushing you and—"

"Overwhelming wasn't the right word. I said that a little hastily. It might be more like ... wonderful."

"Wonderful?"

I bite a smile and give him a little nod.

"Really? I had no idea I was wonderful, but Bella? I'll take whatever you can give me."

"I promise to give you what I can."

The wind tunnels through the buildings and launches me forward straight into his chest. My heart thumps heavily as he grabs my upper arms to steady me. I clear my throat and step back. "Well, I better get to work," I say, rushed.

"Wait a minute. About that promise thing you just said ... can you give me lunch today?" he asks, and I start laughing.

"You're my official lunch companion, and I won't be able to eat without you," he says grinning. "Does that bother you? That I might starve?"

"Okay. I do not want to be responsible for you starving."

"Excellent, and I appreciate your concern for my well-being. I'll see you at noon."

Over the next couple of days, we fall into a happy, safe pattern, at least for me. No more wrist touches, although I might like to have that one repeated. We have morning and afternoon meet and greets with lunch in between. Angela never asks about him, and she waits patiently in the afternoons while we talk for a few precious moments.

And my mother continues to blow up my phone from jail, but at least I know where she is.

On Friday morning, I find Edward in more of a chipper mood than usual.

"The boxes from that estate sale are being delivered today. Are you still up for helping me sort them? I'll throw in some Chinese with it," he says with a quick waggling of his eyebrows.

"Sure."

"I'll pick you up at seven. Make sure to wear something casual. The boxes will be dirty and dusty."

Later that evening, as I'm rummaging in my closet, I pop open a few containers I haven't opened in a long time. I've dressed like a librarian for the last several years because why bother? I've had no one to impress.

I pull out a pair of brown, lace-up combat boots and a faded, navy-colored baseball cap I haven't worn in a few years. I slip on some jeans and an old hooded college sweatshirt and lace up the boots. I decide to put my hair up in a ponytail. The snow has melted, so the temp is above freezing. My ears might get a little cold, but I shouldn't be out in the weather for very long. Instead of grabbing my long wool coat, I reach for a short quilted one the same color as my hat and take one last look in the mirror. A few strands of hair have broken loose, so I quickly tuck them behind my ears just before I hear a knock.

Even though my mother is still locked up, I check to see who it is before I even touch the door handle.

I open it, and he's looking down the street. When he turns, he starts to smile, but it falls. His eyes trail down my body and back up to my face, and he just stands there staring.

"What's wrong?"

He continues to stare, and I begin to worry as I tuck one of the wayward hairs back behind my ears.

"You just ... you look ..." he stutters. "You're … you're really ... cute."

I smile, and his words warm my cheeks. "Um, thanks. You said casual."

He glances all the way down to my boots and back up. "Casual suits you. Very well, in fact."

Turning, I lock the door and hide the pleasure I feel.

When we arrive at the bookstore, he parks in a different spot this time and takes me in through the rear alley entrance. "Sorry it's a mess, Sue's a packrat, and I'm a bit of a slob," he says chuckling. "All I really need is my laptop."

Exposed piping and electrical wires hang from the dark beams above, and the floor is concrete. A huge, beat-up mahogany desk sits in the corner with books stacked haphazardly several feet high, leaving only a foot or so of actual desk space. Tall, open industrial shelves surround the room overflowing with boxes and books. Two swivel chairs are pulled off to the side with countless boxes piled near them.

I tug off my gloves and hand him my coat.

"Are you allergic to dust?" he asks as he slips off his light brown knit cap and fluffs his hair with his fingers. "I forgot to mention it."

"Not that I know of."

He pulls out one of the chairs for me. "Good thing because this is like an allergy red zone."

I laugh and glance around. "I do a lot of reading, but I don't know much about the value of books."

"Oh, I'll teach you," he says with a wink. Pulling one of the boxes close, he brushes some of the dust off and uses a box cutter to open it.

_"Achoo!"_ He suddenly sneezes loudly into his elbow. _"Achoo!"_ He sneezes again, and I laugh and laugh as he sneezes a total of eight times.

Chuckling, he rubs his watery eyes and fights the urge to sneeze again. "I swear to you that I'm not … not … _allergic to dust,_" he says loud and quick, his voice all funny before another one erupts.

"I'm going to have to burn this sweatshirt."

I can't stop smiling and giggling. He finally gets it under control, and we start pulling out books. I lift one—dull and spotted brown—the binding torn and ragged and inhale its scent. "I love that smell," I mumble.

"It's great, isn't it? They need to make it into an air freshener."

We laugh some more before he gives me a quick clinic on how to find the gems. He shows me different books and uses terms like dampstained, edgeworm, stunned, and foxed. He's proud of his expertise, and I find it all to be completely fascinating.

I finally get the hang of it, a little, but I still have to consult him on every book I touch. I have one open in my lap, gently touching the gilded edges when I feel him staring. I bow my head more so that the bill of my hat blocks his gaze, but I can still feel it. His boot nudges mine, and I look up.

"I've never seen you like this before," he says, his eyes dragging over me again. "I really like it. I like seeing this side of you."

"I'm trying," I say, loving his words. "I guess this is my way of letting you get closer. A little bit."

"I accept it. This is a gift for me," he says with the softest eyes. "It really is."

Swallowing hard, I immediately turn my attention back to my book.

Several hours later, with half-eaten Chinese boxes strewn about, I pull a book from the box I've been working on. "Hey, isn't this the same book of poems you have? The one you read to me?"

His brows pull together curiously as I hand it to him. "Oh, yeah," he says. "Mine was originally my mom's. She loved poetry. She would make me sit for an hour each day while she read to me, and I absolutely hated it. None of it made sense. I wanted her to read me Spiderman."

"I had it worse," I say, my mouth twisting.

"How is that possible?"

"My dad would make me sit at the kitchen table and look through Bass Pro Shop Catalogues with him. I had to help him pick out rubber worms, salamanders, and frogs."

He throws his head back, laughing crazily, and I join in, breathing in his beautiful sounds, cherishing them. "You've got me beat, Bella, by a mile."

With an unshakable smile on my face, I get back to work on my book. This one is easy and has no significant value, so I set it to the side. I'm reaching for my next book when I glance at Edward and stop.

"What's wrong?" I ask. With brows pulled tightly together, he's staring at the book of poetry I handed him. It lays in his lap, open to the first page.

"This is a first edition."

"Oh, wow," I say excitedly because this is the first one we've come across.

He looks up with the oddest expression on his face. "I have the strangest feeling."

"What is it?" I ask as I scoot my rolling chair closer to his.

He picks up the book. "Read this."

Leaning into him, I see a beautiful, hand-written inscription in calligraphy. It's faded, and the ink has seeped into the paper, but it's still stunning.

_**June 20, 1918**_

_**"To My Beloved Clara,"**_ I read out loud, but when I see the next part, I read it silently.

_**"Even though we are apart, my love for you flourishes. It's immeasurable, unending, and will follow you even into the life beyond. If our time is cut short, always remember that I will still have a millennia left to love you." **_

_**Yours, **_

_**Edward**_

My eyes shoot to Edward's.

"Eerie, isn't it?" he says.

"Oh, my goodness," I mumble as I glance down at it again.

He hands it to me, and I'm so moved by the words as I run my fingertips over Edward's name. "It's beautiful."

"I wonder what he was like?" he asks.

I rub my fingertips over her name. "I wonder what she was like. She must have been so special. He obviously loved her very much."

I look up and lock eyes with Edward and my blood rushes. Something about his ... there's a change—something more, something deeper.

We stare at each other for the longest moment before he finally whispers, "He did. He loved her very much."


	33. Chapter 33

A/N: Hi, readers! I'm just thrilled with your response to my o/s Back Yard Exposure. So many of you are excited about it, so of course, I have to continue it! I'll post the second chapter in a couple of days. It's going to be a lot of fun, and I'm looking forward to writing some humor again.

I have some beautiful ladies to thank. Thank you to SunflowerFran for her beta skills, eeyorefan12 for all of her input into this chapter, and gabby1017 for pre-reading. They are all so lovely.

And as always, thank you for reading. ;)

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 33**_

"Thank you for this evening," I say, standing in front of my apartment with Edward. "I learned so many new things. I love your bookstore. I love everything about it. Books are kind of like friends. At least to me."

"You're welcome, and thanks for letting me put you to work. I feel like I need to hand you a paycheck," he says with a chuckle.

"You've already paid me," I say softly.

He ducks his head and nods. He knows my meaning.

I don't worry about asking him inside. I think he knows me well enough now to not expect it. Pushing my hands deeper into my pockets, I shiver and fiddle with my key.

"Hey, I have nothing going on this weekend," he blurts out. "I'd love to see you again."

"Um..." I say as I watch several cars go by. I look back at him, and my hesitation gives him my answer.

"I guess I'll just see you bright and early Monday morning," he says with a false cheerfulness.

I'm torn and I feel like a terrible person. I know it must be written all over my face.

"It's okay, Bella. Besides, I had such a great time tonight that it'll last me until Monday."

His mentioning it reminds me of something. "Oh, I've been feeling guilty about your buying my lunch all week, and I wanted to see if it would be alright if I made you something on Monday. Maybe we could eat in my building. There's a really great place by the fountain."

He grins. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"I guess I am."

"Then I accept," he says just as someone honks at his double-parked Jeep. Edward jumps, and I let out a small shriek.

_"Holy shit," _bursts out of him as he turns toward the ruckus. The person lays the horn on again, a lot longer this time.

Edward whirls back around, and we both erupt into laughter. "I gotta go," he says, talking fast. "Be safe. Call me if you need me." He reaches out his hand and, without thinking, I pull mine out of my pocket and lay it in his. He raises it to his lips, pressing them briefly against my gloved fingers. "Thank you for tonight, Bella. I can't wait for Monday," he says before the person in the car rolls down the window and starts yelling obscenities.

He's grinning and laughing as he turns and jogs to his Jeep. He says something to the driver, but I can't make it out.

I feel like I float into my living room. As I strip off my gloves, I find myself thinking of the kiss Edward placed on my hand. Laughing, I pick up Oliver and give him a one-armed hug as I try to shrug out of my coat.

I hang it up on the hook by the door before I flop onto the couch, setting him on my chest. "Oliver, I had the most amazing evening. Would you like to hear about it?" I ask. He purrs and I scratch his ears, rub his belly, and begin sharing with him. But halfway through, he jumps off of me and hops up on the trunk.

And he just sits there like an Egyptian statue, staring at me with his yellow eyes.

We have a stare-off and my elation over my evening begins to wane as my eyes drift to the lock on the front of the box.

_How am I ever going to open it when the key is at the bottom of the lake at the cabin? Do I want to? Maybe I can just put it in a dumpster. Or toss it off a bridge._

I consider it.

But I realize I can't. There are things in there that I have to deal with, just not today.

Looking away, I remove my hat, loosen my ponytail, and run my fingers through my hair.

Thoughts of that trunk have put a damper on my evening, but I refuse to give in to it. To cheer myself back up, I bring out my flowers from the bedroom and tend to them. I cut the stems, careful to make them each the same length, replace the water, add the flower food, and mourn the brown and curled edges.

Afterward, I set out my ingredients to make Dad a cherry pie for my visit tomorrow.

Like usual, I end up sleeping only a few hours, but this time I have a good reason for it. I can't stop processing the evening, reliving every moment. I think a lot about that book of poems and its inscription. I try to picture Clara and Edward but for some reason, I can't picture Clara at all. All I see is Edward. I see him—his hair trimmed and tidy—in a dark navy suit with a green tie and shiny black shoes, jumping out of a Model T with a handful of daffodils in his hand. He races up the steps of a Craftsman home with a huge front porch and presses the doorbell firmly, so eager to court his love.

And then I picture _myself_ opening that door, watching Edward taking my hand in his and placing a kiss on it...

The next morning, I try to set those thoughts aside and head out to see Dad. I keep my mace in my right hand just in case. _She_ should still be rotting in jail, but I'm not taking any chances.

Thankfully, there's still no sign of her.

When I arrive at Grace Manor, I'm relieved to make it in time to visit the accounting office. They are only open half-days on Saturdays and I need to pay for Dad's incidentals for the month. I don't recognize the clerk on duty, but we make small talk while she looks up his billing.

"Here it is," she says. She studies the computer screen for a moment. "So, the insurance has paid everything except the fees for the field trip and the haircut you requested for him. Is that what you expected?"

I nod, grateful once again for the long-term care plan Dad had paid for all those years ago on the job. Unfortunately, it still had limits. "Can you tell me how much longer the Horizon plan will cover everything?"

"One moment." She turns back to the monitor and clicks a few more keys on the keyboard. "Looks like you're good for another 11 months." Her eyes meet mine, and I see the momentary concern there. "Would you like to set up an appointment to talk about options beyond that?"

I shake my head as I hand her my credit card. "Not now, thanks. I'll figure something out."

How I will continue to pay for the excellent care provided by this premiere facility on my bank teller's salary is a mystery I don't wish to contemplate right now. I will have to eventually, though.

Maggie greets me at the door to the memory unit with her usual exuberance. "Oh child, how are you?" she says, pulling me into one of her hugs I've come to enjoy. She squeezes me extra-long and extra-hard before pulling away and holding me at arm's length. Her eyes flash with alarm. "Oh, my goodness, Bella, what happened to your face?"

I tried hiding it with make-up, but it's still hanging around. It's more of a yellowish-green now.

"I, uh, uh," I fumble because I wasn't prepared for this. "I ... fell on some ... ice. And I ... hit my face on a step."

She gives me an 'I don't believe a single word you just said' expression. "Don't lie to me, child."

And I find that I can't. "It was ... my mother. She's an alcoholic."

"Oh, you sweet little precious thing," she says, pulling me tight against her bosom again. "What can I do to help?"

"Nothing. I'm taking care of it." I'm not sure what I'll do when she shows up again, but I'll think of something.

"You can call me anytime, you know that, right? I'm here for you whenever and however you need me."

"I know. And thank you. For caring about me."

"Of course, I care for you. Why don't you come over to my house tomorrow, sweet girl, and don't be stubborn and say no like you always do. All of my family will be there and their friends, and I'm making my Grandma Nona's world-renowned spaghetti and meatballs. We're a rowdy bunch, but we have so much fun together, and I would so love for you to be a part of it."

I press my lips together, hating the fact that I'm going to disappoint her yet again. "I'll think about it."

"Quit thinking about it, and do it."

"I will some time," I say before I pull in a deep breath. "How's Dad?"

"Very quiet, and he's not eating so good. What did you bring him today?"

"Cherry pie."

"Oh, he'll gobble that right up. Give him lots of love, sweetheart," she says as she lets me into the locked ward. I step into his room and rays of sunshine from the window illuminate his silver hair, making him even more handsome than usual.

"Hi, Dad," I say cheerfully. He turns toward me, and there's no recognition in his eyes, but he smiles, and it's a big, toothy smile beneath his furry gray mustache. Smiles are rare with him, so I treasure every single one. "Look at that grin. Did you know you're more handsome than Tom Selleck?"

I busy myself and talk about work and the sunshine as I try to get him to eat. I'm pleased when he eats two more bites of meatloaf. Pulling out the cherry pie, I put a generous bite on a fork. I get tickled when he groans in appreciation and gets a smudge of the filling on his lips. I study his face for a moment, wishing he was here with me now, wanting so much to share my life with him like I used to.

"I have something to tell you," I whisper. I pause for a second or two, and then a gust of air leaves my lips as I start laughing at myself. I can't believe I'm nervous when I know he won't remember a word I've said.

"I've met someone, Dad," I say softly. "Someone so special. I don't even know how to describe him."

I pull in a slow breath before I continue. "He's beautiful and his heart ... It's even more beautiful. He's a gentleman and so kind, and we met on a bus of all places. He wore this funny hat to get my attention," I say, smiling as I picture him in it. "He owns a little bookstore, and he's going to college, and he asked me out on a date, and we ate at his store by candlelight, and he baked me a chocolate cake and dropped my piece on the tablecloth, and we had another date last night and..." I say all in one breath before I start giggling. Dad turns and smiles, and it's such a good moment between us that my joy overflows.

Lifting his hand, I press it against my cheek. "His name is Edward. I love his name. It's so charming and old fashioned. He's even been to Paris. Can you imagine? He's traveled to so many places..."

I stare off to the side and try to picture Edward as an adventurous teenager with a guitar in his hand, strumming in front of Notre-Dame Cathedral or maybe even in a train station as people drop euros into his open guitar case.

I lean closer to Dad. "He said he wants us to fall in love," I whisper. He's staring out the window again, so I follow his gaze for a moment before I turn back to him. "Dad, I … I think I already have."

Looking down at his hand in mine, I study the brown spots, years of kisses from the sun. "Edward thinks I'm special. I'm not even sure why ... it's something about a scar. But I have a lot of problems, Dad. I'm really messed up, and I'm scared. I don't know what to do," I say as I turn toward him. "I miss you so much, and I wish you could help me."

But Dad continues staring outside. I recognize this moment. It's like I'm no longer here. I wait, hoping for just one more smile from him.

But he's gone again.

I gather my things, kiss his cheek, and tell him I love him.

On the way home, I touch my wrist where Edward did and feel more alone than ever.

On Sunday morning, I think of Maggie and her family eating Sunday dinner together. I remember the barbeques that Jacob and I used to have with all of our friends. We had so many wonderful, close friends that I cut all ties with. A few of them know where I live now because they helped me move here, even though they were flabbergasted at the apartment I chose. They tried their best to talk me out of it, but I refused. I made sure they kept my whereabouts a secret from my mother. They also did their best to stay in touch. They called and texted, but I hid away. How could I bear to spend time with them when they were all couples and I was alone? When I needed to hide, not just from my mother but from the world? When I felt I didn't deserve good things?

I hurt so many people. I left a wake of devastation and alienated myself from everyone. But it was the only choice I had.

I call the home to check on Dad and talk to Vicki. She tells me it's not a good day to visit. Apparently, Dad believes that someone is about to steal all of his possessions, so he's been writing his name on almost every item in his room. But I'm consoled to hear they have one of the aides monitoring him for safety.

When I hang up, I ponder what to do with myself for the rest of the day. I am surprised to realize how much I miss Edward. I've become accustomed to seeing him every day. Seeing his smiles, the way he watches me when he thinks I'm not looking, the way he lifts my spirits. I thought it would be easier, having a break from him, but I find it to be quite difficult.

To keep myself busy, I concentrate on our lunch date for the next day. I've already decided to bring chicken salad sandwiches and chips, but I decide to wow him with my scratch-made pecan pie.

I prepare the crust, then count out exactly fifty pecans, and carefully place them in a circular pattern on top of the pie filling before baking. The warmth from the oven and the delicious aroma fills my small rooms, making it feel cozy when my place is far from it.

I wonder where Edward lives. Does he live in an apartment? A house or a condo? Is it a bachelor pad? He said he was a bit of a slob, which would usually concern me due to my tendencies, but doesn't for some reason. Does he have a wall of books at home even though he's surrounded by them at work?

I smile at my thoughts. There are so many things I don't know about him yet. I want to know more. I just have to figure out how to push through this fear of intimacy I have.

Maybe I'll ask him something tomorrow. Maybe I can muster the courage.

Maybe it's time for a change.


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N**_**: **_Hi, everybody! I want to thank the amazing eeyorefan12 for her invaluable input into this story, and thank you to the lovely gabby1017 for pre-reading. I love them both.

And thank you for reading, my reader friends. I love hearing your thoughts.

* * *

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 34**_

When Angela picks me up the next morning, I'm so anxious to see Edward again that I forget to scan the vicinity for my mother until I'm getting into the car.

We murmur hellos and it grows quiet, just the background music playing softly. I'm thankful that Angela seems to get me and understands my need for privacy.

Peeling my gloves off of my sweaty palms, I clear my throat for the fourth time.

"Is everything okay?" Angela asks. "Are you getting sick?"

An odd sputter of laughter tumbles from my lips. "No, it's just..." I ball my hands into fists. I can feel the heat in my cheeks, and Angela doesn't miss it.

"He's very handsome," she says.

I turn my head sharply towards her, and she laughs. "I have eyes, Bella, and that man is incredibly attractive."

"I haven't seen him in two days."

"And you're nervous? Excited?"

"A little of both."

"I'll bet he feels the same way."

She parks in the garage, and I stumble out of her car. I lose my grip on my bag, and it drops with a thud to the concrete. _"Oh no,"_ I mumble and then cringe as I quickly open it and check my lunch items. I blow out a breath when I see they're still intact, and the pecan pie is not damaged.

As we exit the garage and round the corner, I inhale sharply when I practically run straight into Edward. He's right here in front of me, not down by my building. He steps close and everything disappears: Angela, the buildings, the people crowding the sidewalk, the icy weather.

I see only him.

"Hi," he says softly, his long lashes blinking slowly, his soft, ivy eyes moving along the contours of my face. I drink in the sight of him, letting my gaze wander as I register the smile on his lips and his smooth, scraped jaw. His black beanie has longish hair peeking out, and his brown leather bomber looks like it survived World War II. He briefly nods at Angela, but his eyes barely leave my face.

My heart races, and I unwillingly drag my eyes from him to Angela. She smiles knowingly before walking away.

The freezing air kicks up between us, blowing strands of my hair across my face. Before I can react, Edward reaches his gloved hand out and slowly pushes it back, his fingers trailing along my cheekbone. He runs his hand along the length of my hair as he pushes it back across my shoulders. My eyes slide shut as tingling ripples of goosed flesh spread from my scalp downward over the length of my spine.

His gloved hand finds my cheek again, his thumb rubbing delicately along my skin. Someone brushes past me, breaking the spell, and I finally open my eyes.

We start walking toward the bank building, and it's so crowded that we keep bumping arms. Each time, my skin seems to burn beneath my coat.

"Are we still on for our date?" he asks, a hint of excitement in his voice.

I have to clear my throat to get it going. "Yes."

"I've never been asked out before," he says.

My lips curve. "I know that's a lie."

"How come?"

"Because."

Surely the man owns a mirror.

"Well, then let me rephrase that. I've never before been asked out by the woman of my dreams."

I cough briefly, choking on nothing but his words.

"You okay?" he asks, and I hold up my hand to signal that I am.

"Good," he says, nodding and looking quite pleased with himself. "I can't wait. I'll see you at noon."

He walks away, and I just stand there in a daze. I stand there so long I'm almost late for work. I have to scurry to put my things away, and I'm a flustered mess by the time I get to my station.

_"Looky!"_

A doll flops in front of me as eight little fingers curl over the edge of my station. Two big blue eyes pop up beneath a mass of dark curls. "Do you wike her?"

I pick up the worn doll with black smudges on her cheeks where pink rouge used to be. The blue gingham dress is frayed at the edges with a few strings dangling. "You mean _her?_" I ask and the mass of curls nods enthusiastically. "Oh, I like her a lot. Does she have a name?"

"Her name's Bessie."

"Oh, that's a beautiful name." I mouth "lollipop?" to her mother and she nods. "Do you think Bessie would like a lollipop?"

"She only wikes the wed ones."

"Oh, well, I only like the red ones, too. How about I give Bessie two of them and maybe she can give one to you. What do you think?"

I hear her giggle, and my heart warms as I watch her and her mother walk away.

When the clock clicks twelve, I quickly gather my things. A knot of nervousness forms in my stomach as I head toward the lobby. I spot Edward immediately, standing off to the side.

"Hi."

"Hi."

His eyes brush over my face, and I feel his gaze like a feathery touch.

_"He stepped down," _he says softly,_ "trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking."_

My heart flutters, and my breath rushes out. "What?"

"Leo Tolstoy. _Anna Karenina."_

My eyes drop to his boots, and my face heats like the sun.

"You look so lovely right now."

Shaking my head, a nervous laugh slips from my lips as I press my free hand to my cheek.

He chuckles. "I'll stop embarrassing you because I'm starving," he announces. "Got food?"

I laugh away my nerves. "I do got food."

"I was so excited about our date that I forgot to unlock the front door to the bookstore this morning," he says playfully. "You've become quite a nuisance in my life. My business might go under because of you._" _

I laugh again and can't stop smiling; apparently, neither can he. "Let's get this date started," he says as he rubs his hands together in anticipation.

I lead him to a free seat near the water feature in the center of the lobby. He slips off his beanie and coat and fiddles for a moment with his disobedient hair. I pull out a container and hand it to him.

"Chicken salad?" I ask nervously.

"Love it," he says as he reaches for the box. It holds a sandwich cut in triangles and some potato chips. I also pass him a bottled water.

I remove the lid on mine and place it underneath the container before re-arranging the sandwich. I need to start a conversation, but instead, I begin organizing my chips according to size.

"This is delicious."

_Do it. It's now or never._

"Thank you. Where do you live?" pops out of my mouth. It sounds almost accusatory.

Edward glances up, gesturing with his hand for me to wait a moment as he tries to swallow quickly.

I'm still embarrassed at how awkwardly I approached this. "I mean, uh, I don't know a lot about you. I was just wondering ... where you live."

He wipes his mouth with a napkin and gives me that crooked smile.

"Do you know where Keystone and Meridian is on the east side?"

"No."

_I'm on the west side. I knew he didn't live near me. _

"Well, I have an apartment in an old industrial—"

_"Edward Masen?" _a female voice calls loudly, and it startles me so much that my food in my container almost slides off my lap. "_The _Edward Masen? That's you, right? I can't believe this!"

My eyes dart to where the noise is coming from. The young woman looks like a giant from where I'm sitting. She's wearing a full-length brown coat with a thick, fur collar and has a cute Kate Moss face.

Perplexed, my eyes focus on Edward's. His narrow, staying fixed on the woman as a vertical wrinkle forms between his eyebrows.

"I am one of your _biggest _fans," she continues in a rush. "I followed your band all over town for like two or three years, and then you just disappeared."

His eyes flick to me briefly before he nervously clears his throat. "I, uh, took a break."

"A_ break? _You can't take a break—you guys were so amazing," she says as she rummages in her purse and comes up with her phone. "Well, I have to get a selfie."

I'm looking at Edward again, and his expression is apprehensive and almost annoyed. He stands, and his 'fan' quickly wraps her arm around him. She snaps a few shots before turning to me. "Will you take some, too? My friends will _so_ not believe this."

"No, a selfie is enough," Edward interjects.

_"Please?" _she begs. "Just one more picture? It'll only take a second."

Edward gives me an apologetic look. Frowning, I set my container to the side, reach for the phone, and stand up. She shows me which button to push, and the phone feels heavy in my hand as I step back some distance from them and lift it clumsily. An ill-at-ease feeling comes over me. The image of Edward and this complete stranger hanging onto him comes into focus, and I watch as she snuggles into him like she knows him personally, intimately, like he's her lover or something.

Her face glows, and Edward's half-smile looks forced and distressed. As I stare at the two of them on the screen, I wonder which of them is more of a stranger.


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N:** Hi, my friends. I want to thank eeyorefan12 for her beta skills and giving me so much insight into this story, and I also want to thank the lovely gabby1017 for pre-reading.

Now let's see what Edward has to say after that lunch interruption. ;)

_**TO THE LIGHT**_

_**CHAPTER 35**_

Edward's fangirl grabs her phone from my hands. "Thanks," she says, not looking at me. "Bye, Edward!"

She scurries away, leaving the two of us facing each other in what feels like an awkward stand-off. I barely know where to look, and my thoughts are so jumbled I can hardly make sense of my surroundings for a moment.

I had envisioned Edward as a loner, anonymously standing on a street corner with his guitar in hand as people tossed dollar bills into his open case. I never imagined him like this, being accosted by adoring fans.

I sit down and still don't look at him.

"Bella, I know what you're thinking."

"No, you don't," I mumble as I grab my bag and set it in my lap. "I have some extra chips in here somewhere." Scowling, I dig and dig like I can't find them even though they're sitting on top.

"I'm sorry she interrupted our date," he says softly.

I shrug as I continue rummaging in my bag. "Does this happen to you often?" I hear myself ask.

"This probably happens to every musician who's ever stepped foot on a stage. It's just part of the business. But no, not often. I'm surprised she even recognized me."

I'm agitated, bumbling, and feel out of place. My hands need to fidget so I grab one of the clear baggies in my tote with the chips in them and start crushing the individual pieces between my fingers.

"Bella, please look at me," Edward says as he dips his head, trying to coax my eyes to his.

I make eye contact for just a second before breaking it off again.

"I don't want this to come between us."

I remain silent and continue my chip crumbling.

He drags in a deep breath. "Do you remember me telling you that I was in a band when I first came back to the States?"

Of _course _I remember. I remember everything about him. But he told me he stopped when he bought the bookstore.

I finally brave a glance at him. He leans toward me, his expression reassuring.

"When Mom died and I went to France, I could only think of one way to support myself. In Paris, I did street corners, bars, pubs, wherever. I continued that the whole time I was in Europe.

"It was good, though, because I could really focus on my art but more than anything, it also gave me the freedom to search for you."

He trails off, and I look down at my bag and can feel that my chips are now crumbs. My fingers find a Bic pen, and I start pushing the button repeatedly and pray he can't hear it clicking.

"When I came back here, I was angry and frustrated. I also needed to make money but paid, solo gigs are hard to get. I called some friends, and we put something together. We got a following." He pauses for a second. "But what just happened with that girl means nothing. Okay?"

I nod. And slow my assault on my Bic pen. But I feel the divide. Our worlds don't touch.

"Musicians want an audience. That's why we do what we do. But because we're up on a stage with lights everywhere, it contorts people's view of us. Fans and even groupies just come with the territory. Hey, at least she didn't throw her underwear at me."

I muffle a laugh, and he grins.

"So, are we good?" he asks. "Because I have a delicious sandwich here to finish."

"There's dessert, too."

"What?" he says with wide eyes. "Dessert?"

I nod shyly.

"Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?" he teases as he leans toward me and tries to take a peek in my bag.

Smiling, I hug it to my chest. He's trying to distract me from my funk over the attention he just received, and he's succeeding.

After we finish our sandwiches, I finally pull out the pie.

"It's a masterpiece," he says reverently as I lift a piece out and put it on a paper plate. He picks up the whole piece with his hand and takes a bite before I can hand him a fork. He chews and swallows it before he moans, "Bella, I'm sorry to tell you this, but you get one piece, and I get the rest."

I can't contain my smile, so pleased that he's enjoying what I prepared for him. When he's finished with his second piece, I mumble, "I'll just pack everything up for you to take home." I rush to cram everything into the bag I brought for him. Photographs, squeals, rock-star worshipping: add those up and it equals _flee _in my math book. And yet, I'm still here.

"Hey, I need to tell you something," Edward says as he stretches out his long legs.

"Hmm?'

"I may have, uh, misled that girl," he says, looking bashful. "I got in touch with my old band mates, and we're playing a gig next Sunday night. Actually, this'll be the first one since I bought the bookstore. And I wanted to invite you to come."

I know I'm just staring at him but, for the life of me, I can't think of anything to say. This past hour has felt like a week in terms of new revelations.

Edward sees my hesitation and continues talking. "Bella, music is a huge part of my life, and I want to share that with you. It's important you know that side of me.

"But be prepared," he says, giving me a pointed look. "There will be more girls. It's just part of it. And it means absolutely nothing."

My eyes turn away from his and I'm digging in my bag again, trying to distract myself, but I have nothing else left to gather. I also still have nothing to say.

"Look, I know it might be hard for you. The place might be crowded, and there might be some girls . . . fans. It won't mean anything, but I just wanted you to know that. They don't matter. If I see anyone making you uncomfortable, I'm not above knocking some heads."

I can't help a small snicker at the image of Edward jumping off of a stage to come to my rescue.

"I'm not kidding. I'll go all postal caveman."

He starts beating on his chest, grunting, and I try not to, but a laugh spills out of me.

"I love those sounds," he says.

"What sounds?"

"Your bubbly little laughs. I'm going to keep working hard to earn them. I'm kind of addicted."

_What am I supposed to say to that? I know..._

"I need to get back to work."

I stand and my feet are treading their departure when I feel a tug on my elbow.

"Come over here," Edward whispers close to my ear as he guides me to a spot behind a pillar.

Turning around, my lips part and I suck in a balloon-size gulp of air when I see him getting closer and closer. I retreat until my back hits the wall with a quiet thud.

"Thank you for asking me out and cooking me that delicious food. You sure know how to make a guy feel special."

I giggle. A strange, self-conscious little giggle.

His eyes are on my lips as I try to unsuccessfully wet them with my desert-dry tongue.

"I wouldn't mind if you asked me out again. For a second date."

"Uh, uh..."

"I want to touch you again. I'll wait for you to give me the go ahead, but I need to warn you. Once I feel you, once I can hold you, I won't ever want to let you go."

An inferno ignites as his words light my skin on fire. Flames lick slowly along my curves as if his actual fingertips are burning brands into my flesh.

His arms cage me in. "Is this alright?" he asks in a husky voice. When I don't object, he leans down and breathes against my cheek making a trail to my hair. I can feel the heat against my bare skin.

Groaning, he stays there for a moment or two before he pushes off the wall and backs up.

My breathing is erratic, and I can feel the flush on my skin from my cheeks down to my belly button. I adjust my blouse around my fiery neck and straighten my bangs.

And I don't dare look at Edward.

He clears his throat. "I hope that didn't make you feel uncomfortable, but this insane yearning to be close to you is driving me crazy. I want to hold you so badly that it gets to me sometimes."

My breathing is impaired, and my body begins quivering uncontrollably as I stare down at my feet. I pray that he can't see my weakened condition.

I hear him heave a sigh. "The gig starts at seven on Sunday, but I have to get there several hours early to set up," he says. "Do you think you can make it?"

I'm barely able to stand let alone have any coherent thoughts, but I finally make eye contact. And I know what my answer will be. Clearly, this is so important to him, how can I say anything but "Yes."

His smile is radiant.

"And I won't introduce you suddenly to anyone like I did with Sue. I want you to be comfortable okay?"

"Okay."

"I won't get to see you tomorrow. There's an auction I want to go to. It's a couple of hours from here."

My gaze drops to my shoes as I try to hide my disappointment.

"I'm going to miss your face."

I glance up and he's started walking backward.

"And your feet. You have small feet. I like that."

I bite my lip. "And your hair. It smells good."

"And . . . well, everything about you."

My heart warms.

"Will you miss me too?" he calls out.

"Yes," I call back.

He stumbles and almost falls down. "Will you miss my big feet?" I nod and laugh harder.

"And my kamikaze hair?" he asks as he tugs on his beanie.

"Yes."

"We might be falling, Bella. We might be falling," he chants.

He waves, and I watch him until the revolving doors whisk him away.

I nearly collapse and have to lean against the wall to recover.

As I wobble on shaky legs back to my desk, my boss Lauren approaches me. I quickly check the clock to make sure I'm not late—but I'm late. Even though I've been a model employee, I tense up with apprehension.

"Bella," she says nasally. Lauren is a stickler. She does not tolerate tardiness and she's a "by the book" kind of person.

"As you know," she says, looking down her large nose at me. "We've hired a new employee. She'll be in orientation this week and I'd like you to start training her on Monday."

"Of course," I murmur with a sigh of relief that she didn't mention my tardiness. One of my co-workers is about to go on maternity leave, so I knew a new employee would be joining us soon.

Lauren leaves and I collapse into my chair. Every inch of my skin is still sizzling from Edward's sensuous words. I've never felt so impassioned before, so inflamed and stirred up. I've never felt so desired, had anyone crave me, itch to touch my skin. Jacob and I had a different kind of love. Familiar and warm. A comfortable kind of love that just came to be after years of friendship.

I'm a hot mess of up, down, sideways, backways. It's like I'm crashing into walls and falling off cliffs with all of these crazy emotions channeling through me.

I don't know what Edward and I are to each other. He says we're "falling" but where is "falling" going to lead us? Falling usually doesn't end well. It usually ends with someone face-first on concrete.

Later that evening, I google the bar where Edward's gig will be and an ad pops up with his image on it. My breath catches in my throat. Squinting, I lean forward. His hair is longer and he's standing on a stage in front of a mic with a guitar draped around him. His eyes are screwed shut, head tilted downward, brows pinched.

I shiver because whatever he is singing about, it looks like it's coming directly from his soul.


End file.
